


Crush

by isharaine



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, F/M, Fluff, Minor Violence, Organized Crime, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-11-16
Packaged: 2018-04-13 13:27:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 105,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4523793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isharaine/pseuds/isharaine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orihime has a secret crush on her regular customer, but he doesn't seem to notice her. And who are all the sketchy characters hanging around him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer : Bleach does not belong to me, and I make no money from this.
> 
> Warning: AU, Violence, Language
> 
> A/N: Edited for punctuation and redundancy, with many many thanks from lilarin who is awesome.

**I.**

* * *

The bell tinkles and the auburn-haired barista looks up to see _him_ enter, the afternoon sunlight outlining his lean figure. He wears the white suit as if it was sewn on him, and judging by the quality, it may well be. The midnight shirt outlines the muscles underneath, and the tie is perfectly executed, a viridian shade to flatter the wearer's eyes. Walking to the counter soundlessly, he jams one hand into his pocket, as if to emphasize the cut and fit of his trousers.

When he gets close enough for her to see his square jaw and the tilt of his nose, she is not surprised by the sudden mad fluttering of her stomach. This infatuation she has for him is ridiculous, and she cannot understand why it is on him, of all people.

"One double espresso," he murmurs, his eyes searching the menu.

"Of course," she responds, her eyes falling on his long slim fingers as he drums them on the countertop. "Please have a seat."

Without another word, he settles for the corner stool, looking out the window. He sinks into the seat as if it were a horse; back straight, knees wide, straddling it almost lovingly, his mirror-shined shoes braced against the bars crossing the legs of the stool. One arm rests on the tabletop, his forefinger stroking the wood lightly.

Every Tuesday at seven, precisely, since four months ago, he comes in, this customer, his dark hair looking wild and windblown, and he orders the exact same drink every time. He sits on what she has christened in her mind as 'his' stool, and gazes out the window. In these four months he has never made eye contact with her, nor has he initiated any conversation with her. In fact, every time she has tried to say anything, he has just ignored her and walked away. She has worked long enough in this business to know when to leave customers alone, but this one in particular fascinates her.

The espressos poured, she balances the demitasse cup on the tray. On impulse, she grabs a cookie, plates it, and adds it to her load. Then she tiptoes over to him, laying out the dishware with a muted clink. By now, she knows that his cologne is going to hit her when she bends over, and his scent will linger even after she straightens up.

"I did not order this." His voice, low and husky, has her heart rate picking up.

"On the house," she tells him with a smile, looking him in the eye for the first time. He really has gorgeous eyes, the colour of a forest at midnight, and this is the first time she's seen them up close like this. He stares back for a second, caught off guard, and then he averts them, as if hoarding himself. He has the saddest eyes she has ever seen, and it breaks her heart.

"Thank you." His tone is dismissive now, and he stares back out the window as if she was already gone.

"You're welcome," she sighs quietly, bowing her head as she walks away. The back door opens, and her co-worker Chizuru comes back from her break.

"Hey, Orihime, did it get busy?" the bespectacled girl chirps. She glances in the direction of their one client, and scowls. "Grumpy Cat is here again, eh?"

Orihime covers her friend's mouth, casting a horrified glance over his shoulder. "Sshh! Don't call him that!" she hisses.

Chizuru's eyes gleam slyly under the glasses. "At least I didn't tell him about your cr-," she yelps as Orihime drags her to the back room.

"Seriously, Chizuru," she snaps, when they are in relative privacy. "Firstly, it's not good service to talk about your customers like that. And secondly, I don't have a crush on him."

Chizuru snickers unrepentantly. "Sure you don't."

Orihime scowls. "Stay here until you can behave yourself."

She pushes through the door, to find the man standing by the counter, eyes downcast. His dishes are neatly piled, and the exact change has been counted out. As usual, he has five dollars tucked into the tip jar.

"Woman, why did you give me a cookie?" he asks, raising his cold green eyes to her curiously.

Two instances of eye contact today! In her head, she is marking her mental calendar with a big pink heart. Exclamation mark, question mark, exclamation mark. His penetrating gaze has her cheeks glowing.

"It looked like you needed a cookie today. Did you like it, sir? It is our newest offering, butterscotch macadamia." She notices some crumbs on his chin, and reaches beside her to grab a napkin. When she looks up again, he is gone, the jangling bell announcing his exit.

"Meow. Grumpy cat ran away," Chizuru giggles. Orihime sighs.

 

* * *

 

The next week, he comes in, right when a high school football team is swarming the shop, ready to grab their coffee before heading to the afterparty. She knows the moment he enters the glass doors. Orihime curses her awareness of this man, even as she smiles at sweaty teenage boys, dodges pathetic one liners, and politely declines propositions.

To expedite things, she prepares the double shot of espresso, so that the regular customer gets his drink first. But, by the time she is ready to bring it over, he is already walking out the door.

 

* * *

 

Another week passes.

This time, the shop is back to the typical quiet Tuesday night. A couple of office girls finish off a slice of cake, and ogle the man as he enters the shop. His hair is more tousled than normal, probably because of the light drizzle outside.

Orihime has his double espresso ready for him by the time he reaches the counter. He stares at the cup blankly, then reaches down for it. His slender fingers should look ridiculous around the cup, but instead they cradle the hot porcelain, bringing it slowly to his lips. Then he tips his head back, and Orihime is mesmerized by the bobbing of his Adam's apple as he swallows the bitter liquid. His lips are slightly stained brown by the coffee, and he licks them lightly, still eyeing the menu. She is transfixed by the sheer male beauty in front of her. He carefully avoids eye contact with her as he makes his decision.

"One earl grey tea, please. To go." So he is not staying. Orihime is disappointed. "Yes, sir," she sighs.

Chizuru pops in behind her. "Sir, may I have your name?"

"Excuse me?" He studies the pastries in the case as if he is considering one.

"For the cup." She shows him the cup and the felt-tip pen. "We need to write your name on the cup so that people don't get confused. It's standard policy."

"It's Ulquiorra." He reaches for his wallet, throwing down a ten.

"Uh, what?" Chizuru pauses, her pen hovering over the cup, "could you please repeat that again?" But he has turned away from the counter, heading over to his regular seat.

With hisses of 'Grumpy Cat', Chizuru hands her the cup. Orihime pops the teabag in, and pours the hot water, closing the lid with a snap. His eyes flick over the cup in her hands as she approaches, and she sees him almost wince, so quickly that Orihime wonders if she has just imagined it.

"Your tea... Leonora?" She reads the misspelt name, eyes wide. She hears the mad snickers from behind the counter, and the squeak of the hinges announces Chizuru's hasty retreat. "Oh, I am so sorry, sir, please let me change the cup out."

He rises, towering over her easily, one hand in his pocket. "No. Give me the tea, and I'll be on my way." He reaches for the cup.

"But- your name isn't Leonora." Stubbornly, she pulls the cup just out of his reach.

"And the tea is getting cold," he says quietly, staring at her hand.

The door chimes; Ichigo, the delivery man, shows up with coffee supplies.

"Hey, Orihime." Her head turns, and she smiles at her friend whom she also has a crush on, but will never admit. Now her cheeks are blazing from the absurdly high levels of male hotness in the coffee shop. The customer takes advantage of her distraction, pulling the tea out of her hands. Their fingers brush, briefly. Orihime, caught unawares, lurches away as he brushes past her on the way to the exit. Of course, being her usual clumsy self, she ends up knocking a chair over when she stretches out her hand to brace herself.

"Easy there, asshole," Ichigo glares at the customer, running over to help Orihime right the chair. "Hey Orihime, are you okay?" The regular ignores him, stopping by the condiments stand to pour cream into his tea. He doesn't even turn his head in her direction.

"N-no, it's my fault. I would not give him his tea," Orihime stammers, blushing harder from Ichigo's grip on her elbows. The jangle of the chimes interrupts their discussion, signalling the exit of the man in the white suit.

"Pfft. Shoving people for no reason is inexcusable." Normally when Ichigo gives her his undivided attention, Orihime is a blubbering mess, but today, she is strangely annoyed. Waving him away, she starts unpacking the boxes to inspect their contents.

 

* * *

 

He does not show up the next week, nor the week after.

Orihime wonders if she will ever see him again.

 

* * *

 

On the third week, he appears, still in his expertly tailored suit, with the tight black shirt and the same deep green tie that matches his eyes. Orihime ignores the leap that her heart makes at the sight of him and tries to control her escalating pulse.

"One double espresso," he tells her. She cannot hide the smile crossing her lips as she punches in his order.

"This is amusing?" he asks in his monotone, his lips turning down slightly at the corners.

She glances up at him, her eyes sparkling. "No, but you, sir, are very consistent," she tells him. Her eye contact catches him off guard, and he averts his eyes. Doing an about-face, he walks to the window seat. She has his espresso in no time, and she serves it without saying anything. He sits by the window, not turning his head in her direction at all. Orihime sighs as she walks away, simply contented to have him in here again.

The door chimes signal the entry of another, taller man, in a similar snow-hued suit. He has wild hair with all the colours of a cloudless summer sky, and a smile with too many teeth. Orihime does not like the predatory way he scans the coffee shop, with his blue gaze resting on her eventually.

"Yo, Ulquiorra," he calls out, eyes never leaving her. At first she is confused, thinking he is addressing her. The customer rises from his seat, leaving a neatly folded five dollar bill on the dark surface of the window counter.

"This where you hang out?" the taller man asks, in an extra-loud voice. "Man, I don't blame you. The barista here is ha-awt." He throws her a wink, and Orihime notices the light blue eyeshadow under his eyes. But there is an air of danger around him that she does not trust. Feeling exposed, she ducks behind the espresso machine.

He walks past the newcomer, and heads out the door, hands in his pockets. "Let's go, Sexta," he says, sounding bored.

"Aww, but you never let me have any fun," the taller man whines, turning to follow him.

Orihime wonders what her favourite customer does for a living, if he hangs out with someone as scary as that guy. Also, what kind of a name is Sexta?

 

* * *

 

The next day, the scary man with the electric blue eyes is waiting for her when she starts her shift.

"Yo, busty." He toasts her with his frappuccino from the table facing the counter, presumably from the previous shift.

Chizuru huddles into her back. "Hime-chan, that customer is scary," she mewls, peeking over the taller girl's shoulder. "I don't like him."

Orihime ignores the man's taunt, and grabs Chizuru's hands, giving it a squeeze. "It's okay," she reassures her, "It's broad daylight and he is just a customer, he probably won't do anything. Let's get back to work." She grabs the bussing rag to wipe down tables.

"Stay here and keep on cleaning," she tells Chizuru. The magenta-haired girl nods, and heads to the back to grab the mop. She ignores the leers that the man sends her way, wiping down the first few tables. He watches her make her way through all the tables.

"Aren't you going to wipe mine down, eh, busty?" He smirks as she tries to retreat past him.

"I can wait until you are done, customer," she replies with a forced smile.

Looking her in the eye, he uncaps his drink and slowly pours it on the table. "Oops." He smiles, all sharp teeth. "I made a mess. Can you clean it up?" Lowering her head, Orihime nods. She sends up a prayer of thanks that she decided to wear jeans today. Bending forward, she tries to stay out of reach as she wipes the spilled drink with her cloth. To her horror, the man leans forward and traps a lock of her long hair between two fingers, twirling slowly to bring her face closer to his.

"Please - what are you doing?" Orihime hates the pleading in her voice, the weak bleatings of a helpless girl.

"Mmm. You smell nice," he hisses into her ear. "I can see why you've got our friend all hot and bothered over you."

"What?" She looks at him, wide eyed and fearful. He pulls her even closer.

"Hime-chan, do you want me to call the police?" Chizuru calls from behind the counter, holding the phone in her hand.

The man releases her abruptly, an easy smile on his face. "No need. We're all friends here, right?" He rakes a sharp fingernail down her cheek, leaving a faint red line. "You, me, and Ulquiorra make three."

She presses a hand to her cheek, backing away as if he slapped her. "I can see why he comes here," He tells her, sucking on his fingertip as he rises to his feet, frappuccino forgotten on the table. "You are absolutely delectable, busty. Bet you're a screamer too. I like screamers."

"Who is Ul-," Orihime is silenced by the strange man's sudden shout of laughter, and she backs away uneasily.

"Oh, don't tell me he hasn't told you his name?" He chuckles, sliding on his hat with a flourish. "His name is Ulquiorra Cifer, and I am -"

"Sexta!" she breathes, taking another step back. His eyes twinkle. "So you do know me? You're so cute, such a frightened little bunny." He stalks her, enjoying the fear in her eyes.

"I'm calling the police," Chizuru decides loudly, dialing.

The man smirks at this. "Normally I like breaking the spunky, headstrong girls, making them cry." He glances over at Chizuru, sending her a predatory smile. "But I've got a tasty morsel right here, so maybe another time." He tips over a display case, sending bottles and packages skittering across the ground. Orihime flinches, making him smile even wider. 

"Aww, am I scaring you, little bunny rabbit?" He follows her rapidly repeating steps, and smiles as she sinks into a crouch in the corner, eyes closed. He descends upon her, gripping her chin in his hands. "Oh, it would be so sweet to eat you up," He growls, moving his face closer. "But our Cuatro has first dibs on you, so…" He satisfies himself with licking her ear instead, grinning as she trembles violently.

"By the way," he whispers. "My name is Grimmjow." He blows hot air into her ear, making her throw her arms up over her head, tears running down her face. "Remember that. You'll be screaming it soon enough." The sirens wailing in the distance have him releasing his grip on her chin. He rises to his feet easily, and throws some money at her. "For my drink," he says, flashing his razor-sharp teeth. Tipping his hat at Chizuru, he walks out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Bleach does not belong to me. :( Nor does the Nezu Museum. Nor Meditation. Nope, not making any money from this.
> 
> A/N: Edited AGAIN for punctuation and grammar, thanks to the wonderful lilarin. The names and honorifics were confusing. (Also all this time, I thought that Aizen was his FIRST NAME. Silly me.)

**II** **.**

* * *

The flame-haired girl is not there when Ulquiorra returns the next week. He is annoyed. It is the other one, the little snippy one, who is on hand to take his order. She is glaring at him as if he has committed some crime. "One double espresso," he tells her, checking his watch.

"You have some nerve, Grumpy Cat." The girl shoves her glasses up the bridge of her nose to peer at him icily. He ignores her, going back to the furthest seat from the counter; the selection of his regular seat is not an accident. It is as far away as he can get from the cash register; a habit that years of avoiding chatty waitstaff have ingrained into him.

"Hey!" She runs around the counter, blocking his way as she waves her arms angrily."You have to leave."

He studies the rims of her glasses, unwilling to look the girl in the eye. "Are you addressing me?" he asks impassively.

"Who else would it be, asshole? Get the fuck out of this store." Her magenta hair bobs with every angry gesture she makes. She ends with an emphatic finger pointing towards the door. "Leave!"

"Why?" He looks outwardly calm and unflappable, but inside his head, he pulls out his gun and shoots her in between the eyes. 'Annoying pest.'

"You know why! And tell your stupid blue-haired friend that if he ever shows his face around this place or Orihime ever again, the police are the last thing he needs to be afraid of." A glob of spit from her tirade flies towards him, landing on his cheek. He slowly wipes it off with one finger, and heads towards the door, wordlessly slipping his hands into his pockets. The door chimes jingle when he is a foot away, and he comes face-to-face with the girl who gave him a cookie. Her eyes automatically go to his, and he sees the panic in them before she averts them. She drops the bag she is holding, sending the groceries spilling to the ground.

This is new. ' _Now she is afraid of me. How boring_ ,' he thinks. He brushes past her, mentally sighing. Now he'd have to find another coffee place. ' _Such a shame. This place had the best espresso so far_.'

She grips the sleeve of his coat, stopping him. "Wait," she murmurs. He eyes her fingers on his sleeve, holding on so tightly that the knuckles are white.

"Let go," he says quietly. People have lost arms for laying a hand on him. Although, this time, he is curious about what she has to say, so he lets it slide. She unclenches her fingers, as if surprised at her own grip, loosing one finger at a time.

"Why did he come after me?" Her voice is different. Something has changed in this girl, a little bit of innocence ripped away, leaving only terror in it's place. She bows her head, slowly sinking to one knee to pick up the bag of groceries.

"Whom are you speaking of, woman?" He watches the dusk light play in the sunset of her hair, as she gathers the spilled items.

"You called him Sexta. He called himself Grimmjow." She looks up at him from her lower position, grey eyes gazing at him. Her voice is calm but he can hear the undercurrent in it. This, too, is new.

"Hime-chan. Get away from him." The smaller girl insinuates herself between the two of them, pulling the girl into the store, shooting him a glare. He pulls a hand out of his pocket, raising his arm to catch the door before it slams into him. The action has the girl flinching.

The picture is suddenly clearer. Violence has been done to this girl, and it has been done by Grimmjow. It really is not his problem, not his business. Except perhaps Grimmjow believes he can get to him through this girl. Does he think she has a special significance to him?

' _No matter_.' He turns away, releasing the door so it glides shut behind him. ' _Grimmjow can keep trying to aggravate me till he is blue in the face. She does not matter. Nobody matters._ '

 

* * *

 

The Nezu Museum was founded by the industrialist, Nezu Kaichiro Sr. in 1941. He was the president of the Tobu Railway and had it written in his will that his personal art collection should be preserved and exhibited. Ulquiorra's boss, Sosuke Aizen, likes to conduct his business in this museum. It amuses the gang boss to have meetings to discuss illicit dealings inside this place that is ridden with cameras, and he is very much into art. Ulquiorra suspects that Mr. Aizen plans to buy this place eventually, just for kicks, to add to his art collection. It is a pretty building, Ulquiorra concedes, but it is too open, as museums tend to be. Anyone with a high-powered rifle can shoot through the glass walls. He draws closer to his boss, preparing for any eventuality. On Aizen's other side, the Primera Espadas, Lilynette and Starrk, keep close as well, eyes alert for any suspicious activity. Grimmjow stands guard at the door.

"Kids," Aizen chides, his brown eyes gleaming. "You're all too paranoid. You're scaring our friend here. Lighten up." The man Aizen is meeting is sweating bullets in the overly air-conditioned exhibition room. Understandable, since he just signed over all rights to his business for the bills inside the briefcase that Lilynette hands over.

"And you must leave the country tonight," Aizen adds to the other man, continuing with a friendly, "I hear Hawaii is nice this time of year."

The man mops his glistening forehead with a handkerchief. "Please, Mr. Aizen, sir, I didn't mean to step on your toes," he pleads, sinking to his knees, "but I really didn't know those were your shipments." The boss grins widely. With this expression, Ulquiorra knows that the other man is as good as dead.

"Well, you should have checked, right? Not that your late son had anything to do with it." Aizen rises to his feet, bowing mockingly. "Nice doing business with you, Toyama. Hey, be happy that you even got some money out of it." The man nods, finally sensing the danger that he is in, and scurries away like the rat that he is.

' _They are all rats,_ ' Ulquiorra notes. ' _Feasting on trash like the vermin that they are. And people like us are the exterminators.'_ The boss lifts his arm, palm-up, as soon as the man is out the door. He has well-manicured fingers, but Ulquiorra has seen first-hand the death those hands can bring. Tier Harribel, the Tres, hands him his cellphone. He smiles and thanks her, dialing as he turns to peruse a woodcut of a fishing scene.

"Hello, Nnoitra?" he says cheerfully. "Kill him now. Make sure you retrieve the briefcase. And- Don't make a mess this time, okay? Dispose of the body properly." He hangs up, giving the device back to the blonde with her collar obscuring her chin. She slides it into the briefcase she carries, putting her sunglasses on. They march through the long hallway, with Harribel in the lead, scouting each opening first, followed by Aizen, who is flanked by the Primera and Ulquiorra, with Grimmjow bringing up the rear. All of them keep a safe distance as he moves through the exhibition rooms. He pauses every now and then to gaze at a painting or sculpture. The boss stands out from among them, wearing a navy Armani suit surrounded by all of his underlings' unrelieved white, and this is no accident. He picked their white tailored outfits to distinguish them from all the other second-rate gangs, with their cheap, ill-fitting suits. He looks every inch the respectable businessman.

' _The uniforms are great. Although,_ ' Ulquiorra muses, ' _it is a pain to get blood out of white clothing._ ' He also gave them their rank names, calling them by their numbers in Spanish. Collectively, they are called the Espada, and they are legendary in the Japanese underworld. The sight of a white-suited Espada assassin usually has the run-of-the mill Yakuza wetting his pants. 

As they pass a doorway, Aizen glances inside and comes to a full stop. "Go ahead to the car," he orders them, distracted by something inside the room. 

"But... Sir," Harribel begins to protest.

"Fine, fine. Grimmjow and Ulq, stay. The rest of you can go ahead." He waves away the other three. They bow obediently and continue striding towards the exit. The boss continues into the room. Ulquiorra notes that the room is exhibiting Japanese Calligraphy, and is featuring the poetry of Ono No Komachi, the legendary 8th century Poetess. A girl stands inside the otherwise deserted room. She stares at a framed poem, lost in thought. Ulquiorra tenses, his fingers ready to grab his gun at any moment.

"Something probably caught the boss's eye again," Grimmjow mutters, his own hand going to his gun. Sosuke Aizen, after all, is probably the most successful gang boss in Japan, and he got there by going after what he wanted. For a moment, Ulquiorra's eyes rest on the poem.

 

omoFitutu

nureba ya Fito no

mieturan

yume to siriseba

samezaramasi wo

.

Was I lost in thoughts of love

When I closed my eyes?

He

Appeared, and

Had I known it for a dream

I would not have awakened.

.

 

A tiny furrow appears in his brow. The poem is not in his boss's usual style; a love poem, of all things. Why would he want to acquire this? Then he realizes that Mr. Aizen is staring at the girl's profile. He has come to a full stop a few feet away, and both men halt a few feet behind him. Ulquiorra takes stock of the female again. She stands about 5 feet 2 inches, and there is no telling about her figure because of that slouchy oversized hoodie covering the top half of her body. A wire leads out of the hood into the pocket of her skirt, and tights reveal shapely calves that lead into comfortably worn sneakers. He supposes she could be hiding a weapon under that sweater but he highly doubts it.

"Lovely," he hears Mr. Aizen whisper. Ulquiorra relaxes, sliding his hand back into his pocket. Grimmjow smirks. She seems a little young for the boss, but Ulquiorra supposes there is no accounting for taste. The girl starts humming under her breath, and he recognizes Massenet's Meditation from the opera Thaïs. Her breathy humming somehow has goosebumps rising on his arms, and he looks around, checking to see if he is standing under an air-conditioning vent.

The boss makes his move, coming up behind the girl and tugging her hoodie back, revealing hair the colour of a vibrant sunset, bright blue headphones, and dark grey eyes that are steadily dripping tears down flushed pink cheeks. The sudden movement has her lips parting in surprise, and Ulquiorra's eyes narrow in recognition as her gaze crashes into his.

"Oh, look, Ulquiorra." Grimmjow murmurs gleefully behind him. "The boss found your bunny."

Her eyes fall on Grimmjow and she takes a frightened step back, straight into Mr. Aizen's arms. He catches her, smiling gently as she whirls around, flattening her back against the wall like a cornered cat. "I'm sorry," she gasps out to Mr. Aizen, pushing her headphones back as her terrified eyes dart to the blue-haired man.

"Don't be. It is my fault." Mr. Aizen is all reassuring smiles, and he approaches her cautiously. "Please... you are so very beautiful. I wasn't sure if you were real." Grimmjow approaches with a predatory smile, and she whimpers, dropping to a crouch with her arms over her head protectively. 

Ulquiorra, uncomfortable with what is about to happen, turns to leave. He takes three steps, when her voice reaches him. "Please, Mr. - Ulquiorra, please don't go."

He turns his head, reacting to the terror in her voice, when Mr. Aizen purrs, "Yes, Ulquiorra, come over here."

Reluctantly, he strides over in measured steps, ignoring Grimmjow's ecstatic grin. "Yes, sir."

"Shhh, Miss, we're not going to hurt you." The boss raises his hands, trying to approach her as if she was a wild animal. She flinches, and backs away even further. "Do you know Ulquiorra?" Grimmjow sighs and strides past both of them. He grabs the girl's fists when she tries to hit him, and twists her arms behind her back, delivering her to the boss.

"Here ya go, Mr. Aizen," he smirks smugly over his shoulder at Ulquiorra. "You should have grabbed the bunny when you had your chance, Cuatro." Scowling, the boss eyes the tears streaming down the girl's face, and motions for Grimmjow to unhand her. The blue-haired psychopath releases her, and does not expect the brutal blow that Aizen delivers to his face. He crumples to the ground, cursing as he cradles his freshly-broken nose. The boss follows that up with a kick to his stomach, leaving him curled up in agony.

"I'm so sorry you had to see that, my dear." The taller man puts his arm around the trembling girl, leading her out of the room. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Ulquiorra stares impassively down at the injured man, for a moment, and then whirls around to follow the other two. The coffee girl turns, peering pathetically at Ulquiorra over Aizen's shoulder, before she gets herded away. He ignores her, as usual, deliberately falling a few steps behind.

' _Seriously_ ,' he thinks, annoyed by the sound of her sobs. ' _How can anyone be that helpless and still be alive_?'

 

* * *

 

In the car, the boss pours the girl a flute of champagne, and hands it to her with a soothing smile. She eyes him suspiciously, shrinking away. "Please, I need to get home," she whispers, fidgeting with the hem of her hoodie.

"It'll be okay, I'll make sure you get there," the older man promises, offering her a snowy white handkerchief. "Just give me your address."

"I- I can take the train," the girl insists, her fingers curling around the door handle.

"Miss- are you afraid of me? I understand that we haven't been properly introduced but please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Aizen Sosuke." He hands her a crisp white business card. She yelps when he hands it to her, a drop of blood blooming on her fingertip from the sharp-edged paper. Quickly, he takes her finger and pops it in his mouth, sucking gently.

"What are you-" she stares at him, eyes round as his tongue curls around her fingertip. He pulls it out of his mouth and carefully blots it with the handkerchief, tying it around the finger with a tight knot.

"There you go." He smiles, revealing dimples. "It seems another of my possessions is out for your blood. Please allow me to make it up to you. Your name?"

"I-inoue. Orihime Inoue," she whispers, pulling her hand back.

"Lovely. You truly are a princess, just like your name says." He slips on his eyeglasses, looking for all the world like a salaryman, just one in a really expensive suit. "Go on, don't let the Veuve Cliquot go to waste." He pours himself a flute of champagne, and clinks his glass against hers. He waits for her to start sipping before he drinks too, and refills her glass promptly. "It'll make you feel better. I feel a responsibility towards you, princess, please allow me to see you home." Enchanted by her flushed cheeks, he leans forward and pushes a lock of hair off her forehead, tucking it behind her ear. She flinches.

"Miss Inoue- I know this may seem forward of me, but... did anyone hurt you before tonight? Your trauma seems a bit recent." His hazel eyes are warm and full of concern. She averts her own eyes, biting her lower lip.

"Was it Ulquiorra?" he asks her gently. She shakes her head, sipping deeply from her glass.

"Then, perhaps... Grimmjow?" The tightening of her jaw and the terror springing into her eyes answers the question for him. He takes her hand, eyes earnest. "I promise you, he will never hurt you again. I am so sorry he did that. How do you know him?"

"I- I don't know him. He just came into my workplace and attacked me." The girl stares at her lap.

"Really? When was this?" Aizen is fascinated by the tilt of her chin.

"Last Wednesday. I even made a police report." She clenches her fist in her lap. "Please. I don't know why he did it. But please tell him to leave me alone. And Mr. Ulq- Please ask him too why he sent G- the Sexta to harm me."

"Where did you meet Ulquiorra?" the taller man asks curiously.

"He's a regular customer at my coffee shop," she tells him, the alcohol loosening her tongue. "He comes in every Tuesday, at 7."

"Does he?" Aizen asks, topping off her champagne. She sips again, nodding.

"I see," he tells her, watching the pink flush climb up her cheeks. "I suppose I have a lot to make up to you, since both of them are my employees."

"Oh, no, please, do not worry about that. I'm okay," Orihime stammers, glancing out of the window. "Could we please stop the car? I am so close to my home."

The driver pulls over when the boss signals him. With a bow to him, Orihime skips out the door.

"Let me know if you need anything, ok?" he calls after her, a guileless smile curling his lips.

He pulls out his cellphone and dials a number. "Hello, Ulquiorra? Go follow her home, make sure she gets home safe. And then tell me what her address is. I am heading home now, but you and I need to chat about the lovely Miss Inoue. Come see me tomorrow morning." He hangs up, dropping the phone on the seat beside him.

 

* * *

 

She knows he is following her. Her silly crush on this man started all of this, after all. But she is too tipsy to care. Little does that man know, this is the first time she has had anything remotely alcoholic in her life. She does not turn to check if Ulquiorra is behind her; she knows exactly where he is. Damn pheromones.

When she turns onto her block, she ducks beside the doorway of her neighbour's house and waits. Her arms snag him when he strides past, causing him to do a defensive aikido move, pinning her helplessly against the ground, her arms locked at an awkward angle.

"Please," she gasps, struggling. Seeing that it is she, Ulquiorra releases her. He crouches down, irritated by her ineptitude. He is, after all, assigned to her safety, and she appears to be intoxicated. She sits up abruptly. He does not expect this, so when her lips crash into his, he can only freeze.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N II: OMG A KISS!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : Bleach does not belong to me, it belongs to the awesome Tite Kubo, and I make no money from this.
> 
> Warning: Violence, slight non-con (to be safe, I put the warning on), fluff, AU 
> 
> A/N: YAY I HAVE A BETA. Her name is Lilarin. She is awesome. She helped me whip the previous chapters into shape, and has been a tremendous help. A big thank you as well to my friend Sunny who helps me plot stuff out and think out loud and bounce ideas. It is a longer chapter this time, as it took a while.

III.

* * *

Softness, in Ulquiorra's experience, is a sign of weakness, and is therefore to be crushed. He learned early on that any sign of softness would get you chewed up and spit out.

Her lips are soft, unbearably so. He feels his stomach twist as she presses them against him inadvertently, even as he knows the contact is accidental, that this- kiss- if it can be called that, is as much his fault as hers.

She tastes like champagne and confusion. Her lips are warm, the breath she exhales warding off the chill of the autumn night. He wrenches away from her, rising to his feet.

By all rights, he should crush her right now, for even daring to exist. Softness such as hers has no place in the world; not in his world. He knows only how to kill, and how to destroy. Still, Mr. Aizen has entrusted him with the duty of keeping her safe. If there is one thing he must do, it is his duty. This task of protection is beyond his depth, but he will do what he must.

"Get up, woman," he says coldly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand, irritated by the dazed look on her face. She blinks, as if waking up, her gaze slowly searching for his. Ulquiorra averts his eyes before she can, unwilling to give her any more of himself.

She sits there on the ground, looking confused herself. "What . . . What was that?" she stammers, all that hair falling all over her face.

He stalks away, annoyed by the helplessness of this female. She really has no idea how far in over her head she is, dealing with the likes of Sosuke Aizen, who for some reason, has taken an interest in her. All she can do is cry over poems and close her eyes against attacks from Grimmjow and sit on the ground.

Taking a moment, he shoves his hands in his pockets, and waits. She is likely the type of female who confuses feelings with all physical things, even accidental kisses.  _'She probably thinks she's in love with me now,_ ' he muses with a scowl.

He does not expect the punch that crashes into his jaw, as the girl lays into him with a roar of fury.

"Asshole," she snarls, grey eyes flashing. Although her blow was fueled by alcohol and anger, she is not a trained fighter, so the blow is more surprising to Ulquiorra than damaging. But the violence, he understands, catching her other wrist before she can land a second hit. He raises her to her tiptoes, leaving her to swing futilely at him. She stands there, chest heaving, vibrating with fury. The angrier she gets, the calmer he feels.

"Woman," he orders, finally meeting her eyes, "go home."

"Tell me, Ulquiorra Cifer," she snarls, struggling against his grip. "Do you even know my name?"

"No," he responds coolly, "because your name doesn't matter to me. You don't matter." He releases his grip on her, watching her sputter with fury.

She rubs her wrist, eyes blazing. "If I don't matter," she asks, glaring at him, "then why did Grimmjow attack me? And what does Mr. Aizen want from me?"

He jerks a shoulder up in a careless shrug, and turns to leave.

Incredulous, she watches him walk away. "It's true. I had a crush on you, but I never asked for any of this. I hope I never see you again," she yells at him him, stamping a foot in her rage. Then, she whirls away to march down the deserted street.

Ulquiorra watches from the corner as she fumbles with her keys in front of a newer apartment building, favoring her left wrist as she pushes the glass doors open. Once she is out of sight, he approaches, taking a photograph of the building number with his phone. The glow of the smartphone lights up his face as he sends it to his boss.

The buzz of the answering text echoes through the empty street. ' _Good job. Be at the meeting at 11_.'

The man in the white suit heads back down the street, pulling a hand out of his pocket to rub his lower lip idly with his thumb.

 

* * *

 

_His lips are cold, and the shock of the icy skin on hers has Orihime´s heart stuttering. The accidental kiss turns deliberate, as she grabs the lapels of his coat, her mouth searching for more of his._

_"Woman," he groans against her mouth, his tongue searching and then finding hers, "give me more of you."_

_She wants to tell him that the brush they had earlier was her first kiss; that he was the first to ever get so close; but she is learning quickly that it does not even count, not compared to this. His cool lips draw the heat out of hers, coaxing her to open for him as she surrenders even more of herself to his plundering mouth._

_With each second that passes, the world tilts, but Orihime can only kiss him back helplessly. She slides her fingers into his hair, while he wraps his arms around her, enfolding her in his coldness. She cries out, seeking relief for her overheated body, as he rakes his teeth across her lips savagely, soothing the sting with swipes of his tongue. Then she opens her eyes, and is blinded by the sun._

_Suddenly they are free falling out of a rapidly darkening sky, plunging headfirst towards the ground. High noon melts into midnight in a matter of seconds. Orihime drowns in the intensity of his gaze, black tears marring the curve of his cheeks._

_"Why are you crying?" she asks him, desperately trying to wipe them away with her hands. The dark streaks stain her thumbs, but do not smear on his cheeks. His eyes are endlessly deep and unspeakably sad._

_"So empty," he rasps against her hand, licking at her fingers, "come fill me." His tongue is long and pointed, slowly tracing wet trails between her fingers, while his sharp teeth nip at her knuckles, and she has to fight the delicious shiver that runs through her._

_She rips open his shirt to find a gaping hole where his heart should be, the edges rimmed in blackness. Her gaze crashes into his, and the black tears continue to fall._

_The edges of his shirt flap open as they fall, and the inky darkness stains the pristine white of his suit, turning into reptilian wings. His hands turn into claws, digging into her soft flesh as he reverses their descent. Horns sprout out of his head, extending to the sky. Orihime looks up to see his pale face, the only light against the dark backdrop of midnight. Wings beating in time to the pounding of her heart, he lifts her up, holding her close._

_She feels his dark tears falling on her skin, freezing her slowly as the wind whips through her hair. "What do you want from me?" she whispers, tasting the salt of his tears._

_"Everything," he answers, letting go of her. She hurtles towards the ground again as he soars above her, watching her fall. She falls faster and faster, defying the laws of physics as she watches her skin burst into flame._

_She falls into a sea of grasping white hands, pulling at her clothes and hair. She struggles against them, fighting to get back to the surface, but the hands hold her down, ripping at her clothes as she drowns. Finally, she makes it up, but is held down by the hands gripping her tight, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes._

_One hand covers her mouth, stopping her from screaming as the other hands tear off the shreds of her clothing, leaving her in her panties. He hovers above her, watching quietly, with his green gaze, as she lies bound and defenceless._

_The hands, as if given permission by his presence, shift gears, taking on a more sexually charged attack. Fingers pluck at her breasts, rubbing and touching and probing her exposed skin. More hands pull at her hair, forcing her chin up, and her breasts out. They grab at her ankles, forcing them apart. She cannot fight the overwhelming sensations, and shamefully, feels herself getting wet in that secret place. Her throaty screams do not make it past the hands on her lips._

_"Give me everything," his voice is low, and his eyes are dark. She shakes her head at him, whimpering._

_To her horror, he morphs into Grimmjow, teeth flashing as he reaches out to her. "Pretty little bunny, don't you want to to give in?"_

_She recoils from him, screaming against the hand covering her mouth again. He smiles, crawling on all fours until he is over her exposed body. "Sweet little bunny, you smell so good," he tells her, nudging her stomach with his nose, and adds mischievously, "oh, I'm going to enjoy breaking you in."_

_She watches, wide-eyed, as he walks two fingers up her thigh, tensing as he brushes them slightly over her covered mound, then up her quivering stomach. They continue up between her breasts, and then he slides his hand around her throat, cupping her neck in a twisted parody of love._

_"Hush, little bunny, don't say a word," Grimmjow sings against her cheek, tasting her tears. "Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird." Her terrified eyes dart down to the hole in his abdomen, where his navel should be, black liquid dripping from it to mark her skin. "And if that mockingbird don't sing," - he straightens his fingers above her navel, bracing his forehead against hers - " papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."_

_His fingers plunge into her soft belly easily, and Orihime is surprised that it doesn't hurt at all. Instead, wave after wave of hot pleasure suffuses her, causing her to arch up. She feels him smile against her neck as she screams again. "Good little bunny." He growls, and she can see her blood dripping from his hand._

Orihime bolts straight up in bed, quaking in the early morning light. A glance at the clock tells her that she has been asleep for all of four hours, but the adrenaline rush that pounds through her chest will not let her get back to sleep. The remaining vestiges of her dream keep her unsettled, and she decides to get up.

Feeling unclean, she heads to the bathroom, standing in the hot shower. She scrubs and scrubs at her skin savagely enough to peel off a few layers. She does not mind the sting; she needs to remove the imaginary sensation of Grimmjow from her senses. She stays in the shower until her skin starts to wrinkle and the water runs cold.

Then, in a daze, she wraps herself in a towel, brushing her teeth on autopilot.

The icy tap water reminds her of Ulquiorra's kiss; cold and fleeting. She spits it out, replacing her toothbrush in the little bunny cup.

 

* * *

 

The city is covered in fog when Orihime heads out, armed with her sketchbook. She avoids her regular haunts; right now she is too unsettled that she cannot deal with other people.

She finds herself at the Aoyama Cemetery, where her brother rests. On a weekday such as this, it is mostly deserted. She makes her way past the falling leaves, past the neatly maintained rows of grave markers, to the tiny plot marked with a name: Inoue Sora.

"Hello, big brother." Orihime bows to her brother's marker, then presses a kiss to her fingertips before touching her hand to the cold marble. She sits in silence for about ten minutes, before she pulls out her sketchpad and pencil. Then she loses herself in a flurry of pencil strokes, pausing every now and then to grab her eraser. When she is done, she tears off the page and stares at it.

It is her own face, with a hand covering her mouth, eyes wide with terror. Grabbing her pencil again, she goes back to the pad. Two hours pass quickly, and soon she has a stack of images next to her, scenes from her nightmare.

Orihime checks her cellphone. She has about forty minutes left before she has to leave for her shift at the coffeeshop. One last quick sketch, she tells herself, feeling better already. As the lines take shape, she reaches for her brush pen, and starts inking. Wings, clawed hands, horns, a head of dark hair, tear streaks all appear on the page, as her brush moves quickly. Then she reaches for her green marker, coloring the eyes. Now she is done.

She flips through the loose pages quickly, pulling out the lighter she keeps in her purse. "Big brother Sora," she whispers, praying, "please take my nightmares away."

Lighting the first page on fire, she watches the drawing blacken and turn to ash, and feeds the flames slowly with the next one, and the next. The pile in her hand dwindles quickly, and she grabs her sketchbook to tear out the last one, of a demon with Ulquiorra's face, black tear streaks bisecting his cheeks. She pauses, studying the lonely figure on the paper. The sad eyes call out to her, even now.

She remembers losing control last night, being so furious that her fist flies out, connecting with his face. It was largely due to the alcohol, she admits, tracing his face with her fingertip. Orihime knows that the kiss was an accident, an unfortunate coincidence that their lips were in the same place at the wrong time, and she feels guilt rise in her as she remembers punching him for what she thought was him taking advantage.

"I guess I owe him an apology, brother," she sighs, closing her sketchpad as she watches the flames die out. The fog still hangs heavy over the city, while Orihime gathers her things. With one last bow to her brother's grave, she makes her way through the labyrinth of markers.

The year after her brother's death had her coming here almost daily, so she is familiar with navigating the twists and turns of the old cemetery. The smell of decades of incense is burnt into the very stones of this burial ground, but it comforts her. Then she rounds a corner and stops; she catches sight of Ulquiorra on his knees, lighting a candle in front of a grave, inside the wrought-iron doors of a mausoleum.

' _Am I still dreaming? Or have I finally lost my mind?_ ' she asks herself hysterically, retreating around the corner and flattening herself against the wall as she squeezes her eyes shut. ' _Maybe I just imagined him. Or maybe…,_ ' Her thoughts drift to her sketch of the demon with his face, currently in the sketchpad in her hand.  _'Or maybe he really is a demon and I just summoned him.'_

When she opens her eyes again, Orihime is so startled by Ulquiorra who is now standing in front of her, locking her in place with one arm on the wall over her shoulder, glaring at her so intensely that she lets out a shriek and drops her sketchpad and purse.

"Woman," he scowls, "why are you following me?"

"N-no. My brother is buried here. I came to visit my brother," Orihime stammers defensively, straightening up as she adds, "a-and this is the path to the main walkway. I am not following you."

He notes her ink-stained fingers, and looks at the fallen sketchpad, where, of course, it is slightly opened, exposing the lower half of her demon drawing. Orihime follows his gaze and makes a dive for the pad, hugging it to her chest.

"I see," he tells her, observing her undignified position on the ground. He studies her quietly for a moment, and then turns to leave. She scrambles to her feet, brushing off the dirt from her knees as she calls after him. "Wait, Ulq …. Mr. Cifer."

He stops, without looking at her. "What is it now?"

Orihime bows deeply from her waist, hands flat on her thighs. "I would like to apologize about last night." She can barely see his eyes, but he turns his head to look at her curiously.

"Continue," he tells her, his features inscrutable. She keeps her head bowed. "After the… accident, when I attacked you. For that, I apologize. The incident was not deliberate on either of our parts," she says formally, adding, "violence is not acceptable. It was truly out of line for me to hit you. I am very sorry. Please accept my apology." She bows again.

"You said you had a crush on me."

His low monotone reaches her, and she detects a note of accusation. Orihime cannot believe her ears. "You want me to apologize for finding you attractive?" she asks faintly.

He lets out an exasperated sigh. "Forget it, woman." He starts to walk away again.

Her cellphone beeps, signaling her need to leave for work, but she ignores it. "What do you mean by that?" she demands, following him around the corner and up the steps into the doors of the mausoleum.

"Interesting. Most people who apologize do not usually stalk or accost those they have wronged," she hears him mutter, and her hands ball into fists. To calm herself down, she scans the monstrosity of a mausoleum that he is currently in. It is large and imposing, a plain-looking structure made of grey stone. She studies the characters on the grave, but it only bears his last name, Cifer, in Romanized letters.

The candle he lit earlier is still flickering, as he gets down on one knee to light the other one. A flash of memory takes over as she remembers her dream, of being held tight in his arms, of the chill of his skin.

"Fine. I am sorry for hitting you when I was drunk," she bows again, needing to flee his presence. "And I apologize for having a crush on you." Then she starts to walk past him, to escape this awkward situation.

He rises with a catlike grace that she envies, and doesn't even need to dust off his knees. "Will you be heading to your workplace?"

She pauses, and casts him a suspicious glance. "Why do you ask?"

He jams his hands into his pockets and looks up at the foggy skies. "Because the weather looks like it is about to turn. And I will be heading in that direction, and I have a car," he mutters.

Orihime stares at him in disbelief. Did he just offer to do something nice for her? He slides his gaze over to her warily, waiting for her to respond.

"Um. So… are you offering me a ride to work?" she clarifies.

He shifts his weight, jamming his hands into his pockets. "It is only efficiency and expediency that are the reasons for this offer," he tells her, walking towards the main road. "If you are not willing to accept a lift, it does not matter to me."

"Oh, no, I'll ride to work with… you," she says, trailing after him. They walk in silence to the parking area where the sleek black Jaguar is. "Is that your car?" she asks in astonishment. She has never ridden a luxury car before.

A faint ghost of a smile crosses his face, so quickly, Orihime wonders if she imagined it. "No, it's Grimmjow's," he tells her. She tries to hide her dismay. "Will it be okay then?"

He takes her things, and opens the back door, plopping them on the seat. Then, he opens the passenger seat for her, slipping his hand in his pocket. She stares at him for a long moment.

"What is it now, woman?" he looks visibly annoyed by her hesitation.

"You don't even know my name," she tells him, narrowing her eyes. "I don't know if I should get into the car with you." Faster than she can react, he reaches over and snags her wrist, dragging her into the passenger seat. Once she is seated, he pulls out the seatbelt and reaches across her to click it in place. She shrinks back against the seat, trying to avoid contact as much as possible. He moves briskly, closing the door as he crosses over to the drivers' side.

Then, bracing an arm on the back of her seat, he puts the car into reverse. Orihime risks a glance at him and sees his adam's apple and his strong jaw working as he backs the car out of the parking spot. For some reason, she feels her cheeks redden at the sight, so she wedges herself into the corner between the door and the seat.

Finally he eases the car out of the parking lot and drives west towards the coffee shop. Just as they turn onto the main highway, the heavens open, and it rains so hard that traffic just stops. The silence in the car is unbearable.

"Let me call my work and tell them I am going to be late," Orihime mutters, pulling out her smartphone. He doesn't respond, but calmly leans back, fingers on the steering wheel. Dialing Chizuru's phone number, she waits. Chizuru picks up on the third ring.

"Moshi-moshi?" Chizuru is yelling over the noise in the background.

"Hello? Chizuru? It's me, Orihime. I'm stuck in traffic, it's raining so hard," she glances furtively at Ulquiorra, lowering her voice. "I'm going to be a bit late."

"Hime-chan?" Chizuru says cheerfully, "Take as long as you need. Tatsuki and Chad stayed behind a little longer to help me out, since it was raining anyway and they did not want to commute in this weather."

"Oh, please tell them I am so sorry!" she whispers into the phone.

"They understand," Chizuru replies, "Please take your time and be careful. A lot of accidents happen when it rains like this." They say their goodbyes and hang up.

The awkward quiet returns, after Orihime puts her phone away. The car inches through the traffic, but it becomes clear that they will not be getting to their destination anytime soon. She clears her throat. "So, um, thank you for offering to drive me to work," she tells the silent man next to her, watching him drum his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel.

He does not answer, choosing to rest his elbow on the window frame, looking out. He rests his chin lightly on his fist, as if ignoring her.

She tries again. "I guess you regret it now, huh? Offering me a lift?" Her fingers play with the hem of her fall jacket.

The tapping of his fingers stop, and he turns his head to stare at her. "I abhor inefficiency. It is a waste of time and resources. This is the most efficient way, for both of us."

"I… see…" She squirms under his emerald gaze, remembering her dream again.

"You are uncomfortable," he observes, turning his gaze back to the road.

"Ah, do you like music?" she asks, abruptly changing the topic. "Can we turn on the radio?"

He taps a button on the steering wheel and classical music fills the car, the strains of Bach's Cello Suites in G Major. Orihime closes her eyes. "I love this, the Prelude is my favourite part," she gasps, cranking it up. She hums lightly, listening with her whole body.

When she opens her eyes again, he is staring straight ahead at the road, face slightly flushed as his hands lock around the steering wheel. "Are you okay, Mr. Cifer? You're looking a little red. Are you warm?" She redirects the air conditioning vents in his direction, noting that the windows are beginning to fog up.

"It's Ulquiorra. Not Mr. Cifer," he bites out, carefully avoiding eye contact.

"What?" she cocks her head.

"Call me Ulquiorra," he tells her again. "I dislike repeating myself. Pay attention."

"My name is Orihime. Orihime Inoue. You can call me Orihime," she replies with a pleased smile.

He closes his mouth with a snap, turning to look out the window again, and she smirks. She imagines that she knows him well enough now, to be able to tell the changes in his expression. Right now, he is sulking because she has out-maneouvered him.

Feeling daring, she adds, "After all, you've already kissed me." The awkward silence settles again, heavier and more oppressive, even over the the cello suites. A few minutes pass in this manner. "May I ask you a question?" she asks again.

He gives her a hostile side-eye. "If I say no, will that stop you?"

She quiets down for a moment. "Who- who were you visiting in the cemetery?"

He is silent for so long she thinks he will not answer. The sound of the rain on the car roof and the car's motion lull her, and in her sleep-deprived state she drifts off. She hears him mumble something, and then her breath evens out, and she is asleep.

She awakens to a prodding on her shoulder. Stretching like a cat, she yawns hugely, opening one eye. "Hnnnh?"

Green eyes meet hers. "We're here," he says, back in his monotone. "Stay there. I'll come get you with the umbrella." He is out of the car in the punishing rain, opening up a black umbrella before she can say anything. She grabs her purse from the backseat, and opens the door, pulling her hood on. He offers her a pale hand, to help her stand, and she takes it, closing the door quickly behind her. She has a flash of memory, of his black claws gripping her tightly, and shakes her head to clear it.

The umbrella is not very large, so she tries to match his pace without touching him as they make their way to the awning. They reach the covered area, and once he sees that she is underneath it, he turns to leave.

"Wait," she squeaks, grabbing his wet sleeve. "Please, let me at least get you your coffee."

He pauses for a moment, considering it, but changes his mind. "No, I must head to my appointment nearby," he tells her politely but firmly. "Thank you."

She reaches for his hand, giving it a squeeze. The chill of his fingers is a shock to her system, but she smiles at him anyway. "No, thank you so much for dropping me off, Mr. Cifer."

The name slips out before she can control it, and she stares at him, eyes round as saucers. "Oh my goodness, I forgot that you didn't like -"

He yanks his hand out of her warm fingers, and heads back into the deluge. She waves as he drives away, and hugs her bag tight. Then she slaps herself on the forehead, realizing her sketchpad is still in the backseat of the car. She runs out into the rain, trying to catch his attention, but the taillights are now too far away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The following do not belong to me: Bleach, iPods, Pocky, and Ulqui's heart. I make no money from this.
> 
> Warnings: AU, language
> 
> A/N: A big thank you to my beta lilarin, who slogged through this chapter with me. Now I have an outline! So we know where this is headed, and how it ends. This is a long chapter, this time.

IV.

* * *

 

The black Jaguar pulls up in the tower driveway, and Aizen notes the time on his watch. Grimmjow, sporting a black eye, is fidgeting nervously behind him, as he stares at the downpour. ' _Grimmjow has the soul of a cat,_ ' Aizen muses as the blue-haired man carefully avoids the puddles and opens the back door for him.

He gets into the car, clipping on his seatbelt. "You are late, Ulquiorra."

"My apologies, Mr. Aizen," the Cuatro utters tonelessly. He does not give excuses, as usual, but something is different about him today. He cannot quite put his finger on it, but he enjoys trying to solve the puzzle that is his Cuatro.

"We will be going to meet with Nnoitra at the satellite office. Are you feeling well, Ulquiorra?" he says casually, as Grimmjow gets into the passenger seat, scowling.

"I am fine, sir." He puts the car into gear, ignoring Grimmjow, who is complaining loudly about not being able to drive his own car.

"Why does my car smell like vanilla?" Grimmjow whines, jacking up the heater. "Are you wearing cologne?"

Ulquiorra's eyes meet Aizen's in the mirror for a moment. "I ran into the woman today," he says simply. "And gave her a ride to the coffee shop where she is employed."

Aizen can see the tension in his fingers, in the way he grips the steering wheel, even if his face does not change expression. Ulquiorra is cold but not unfeeling, and he is good about distancing and controlling himself, which is why he was promoted to Fourth at such a young age.

"The Inoue girl?" he asks, leaning back to observe Ulquiorra's shoulders tighten. Interesting.

"The little bunny girl with the rack?" Grimmjow smirks, stretching. "Is this her scent then?" Remembering himself, he casts a wary eye at Aizen.

"Yes, Mr. Aizen," Ulquiorra says, shifting lanes. "The Inoue woman."

"I see. Is that perhaps the reason you were late?" Aizen prods.

"No, Mr. Aizen. It was more efficient for her to catch a ride with me since the coffee shop is only three blocks from here, but the cause of the delay was the traffic jam caused by the rain." He turns a corner, bringing the car into the highway.

"Where did you run into her?" A white corner sticking out from under the passenger seat catches Aizen's eye. He reaches over and picks it up, finding a sketchbook. Idly, he flips it open, and sees Ulquiorra's face on a demon. The artist captured so much emotion on Ulquiorra's face, that it is at once disturbing and heartbreaking.

"At the Aoyama Cemetery," comes the response. "She was visiting her late brother."

Aizen leans back into the chair, digesting this new piece of information. Then he flips the page of the sketchbook. It is a pencil drawing of Ulquiorra's profile, capturing his pursed lips as his eyes are narrowed in concentration. The next page has an ink portrait of Ulquiorra, sipping a cup of coffee, his eyes half-closed. Aizen turns the page again, flipping through portraits and drawings and caricatures of the green-eyed man in the drivers' seat. A small smile curves his lips, as he closes the sketchpad. A name is neatly printed in the front: Orihime Inoue. "So, did anything happen last night after we dropped her off?"

"No, she arrived home safely," Ulquiorra answers almost immediately, his tone slightly more forceful than normal. "She seems to have an aversion to Jaegerjaquez." He casts a look at the man in the passenger seat, under lowered lids. "For some reason."

"Which reminds me," Aizen strokes his chin, and glances at the suddenly-quiet Grimmjow. "Now that we know where she lives, we can go to her house soon and you can offer her a formal apology, Grimmjow." He slides the sketchpad into his leather portfolio, looking out at the rain pounding on the car window. "Aside from the museum incident, is there anything else you need to apologize for? She seemed pretty terrified when she saw you in the museum."

Grimmjow is squirming in his seat, muttering under his breath.

"What's that, Grimmjow? I didn't quite catch that," Aizen says, sounding bored. Both of the men in the front seat know this tone of his voice, and it has Grimmjow sweating.

"I… may have… scared her a bit," the blue-haired man grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "Just coz she was looking at Ulquiorra like she liked him. And she was all scared. I thought… well, if she wanted a bad boy, I'd be better for her."

"Mmm," Aizen says thoughtfully, eyeing the dark head of Ulquiorra in front of him. He has not shown so much as a twitch at Grimmjow's words. "We should bring flowers then. Or sweets. Ulquiorra, do you know what she likes?"

There is a pause. Then Ulquiorra speaks. "She likes to draw, and she likes art. And she likes classical music as well."

Aizen smiles. "Excellent."

"We are here," Ulquiorra says abruptly, pulling the car into the covered driveway of Nnoitra's office building.

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra stands outside the doors of Nnoitra's office, arms folded and eyes closed, trying to block out the sound of a chatty Grimmjow.

"I mean, he's Quinto and you're Cuatro, y'know? So why do you have to be a glorified bodyguard while he gets to do the fun stuff?" Grimmjow squats, resting his elbows on his knees. The white suits are tailored well enough to allow for this movement, but Grimmjow is always wrinkling his. "He even gets a frickin' office outside of headquarters." Ulquiorra does not reply, not bothering to dignify that with an answer. "Man, I defeated the wrong Espada. Should have skipped Luppi and gone straight for this guy."

They lapse into a brief, blessed silence. "Hey, Ulquiorra," Grimmjow asks again curiously, "what's between you and busty?"

One green, annoyed eye opens, but he does not respond. Of course, Grimmjow continues, not knowing that he has just taken his life into his own hands.

"I mean, she's cute and all, but are you guys dating or something? You did not stake your claim at the coffee shop, and you've got her panties in a lather, but you don't seem to be doing anything about it," he pulls at his ear absently. "And she's pretty hot. I bet she'd be a wildcat in bed, once you get past that boring helpless thing she's got going on. That rack, man. And that ass."

 _'What is going on?'_  Ulquiorra agrees silently, his expression neutral as his thoughts go towards the woman in question. Twice now he has run into her by accident, and it is either cosmic coincidence, which he does not believe in, or stalking, which would be idiotic on her part. He feels his irritation growing as he remembers how she used to sigh at him in the coffee shop, as if he could not hear her, or when she crouched down in the museum and called for him to stay. ' _The woman really has no sense of self-preservation,_ ' he thinks, scowling.

Grimmjow continues, before Ulquiorra can answer. "Too bad the boss has taken a shine to her, eh? She's not his usual type, though. Remember Momo? That one was sweet, and such a perfect little princess. Pretty dumb though, did everything he told her, right until the very end. She was a cop, too. Come to think of it, Busty kinda reminds me of -" The door opens, cutting him off.

Aizen strides out, tossing a bloodied briefcase to Grimmjow, who fumbles it before closing his arms around it. "Let's go," Aizen says. Ulquiorra takes the lead, walking ahead. Grimmjow looks with dismay at the red stains on his suit, thanks to the case.

Judging by the half-smile on Aizen's face, the unfortunate businessman Toyama is now dead. Ulquiorra sighs mentally, knowing the boss will probably celebrate by dragging them all to one of his karaoke bars. They make their way to the elevators.

One elevator opens, revealing an older man, two men in dark suits, and a shapely young woman who looks like an executive assistant. Ulquiorra stiffens, but holds the door open, to let Aizen and Grimmjow on.

"We have to step up security in this building," the older man drawls to his staff as the doors close. "Rats and snakes are coming in." The old man fiddles with his tie-pin, as the bejeweled C on it catches the light. The executive assistant looks wide-eyed at him, and then at the three of them, nervous. "They stink of the sewers that they came from, spreading their filth to everything they touch." The old man stares at Ulquiorra, a sneer on his face.

Grimmjow grins at him and blows him a kiss, but Ulquiorra keeps his face impassive. Aizen flicks a glance at the old man, and sighs loudly. "Nobody likes a sore loser." He moves to stand in front of the old man, smiling. "Your tie is a bit crooked, let me fix that." The two security men move to block him, but are stopped by a glance from their boss.

Aizen tightens the tie, straightening the pin. "Interesting piece of jewelry," he comments, flicking the logo pin with his forefinger. "Be careful not to lose it. You've already lost so much." He returns to his place between Ulquiorra and Grimmjow.

The silence in the elevator lies thick and heavy, until the ding of the bell announcing the overcrowded lobby.

Ulquiorra blocks the other people from leaving, so that Aizen and Grimmjow can make their exit. The older man sputters behind him, but he ignores it. Grimmjow hits the buttons for the top five floors, standing on the other side to make sure that nobody leaves the elevator. Nobody would dare oppose white-coated Espada, especially since one of them has his base of operations in this building. The old man aims an evil glare at Ulquiorra, as doors slide to a close. The flashing numbers show the elevator heading up. Aizen hides a smile behind his hand.

The hostility is nothing new, especially since Aizen has made great strides forward in the corporate and financial district, acquiring and amassing companies and properties at an exponential scale.

Why did Nnoitra have to pick this building, of all places, to set up his office, though? Ulquiorra surveys the room, looking for the quickest way to the exit. The lobby is crowded for the end-of-day rush, and getting out of the front doors will be a pain. Ulquiorra clears a path for the boss, shoving people out ot the way. Finally, they make their way out of the glass doors. Ulquiorra hands the ticket to the valet.

"Ulquiorra," Aizen calls.

"Yes, sir?" He halts abruptly, turning to face the taller man.

"You are one cold bastard." It is a compliment. Aizen grabs his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Ulquiorra nods once, eyes downcast. "I hope we never become adversaries."

 

* * *

 

A few meters away, inside the glass walls of the building, someone watches the three men get into the shiny black car. His hands ball into fists as the car drives past, and he doesn't move until they are out of sight.

 

* * *

 

It has been four days since Orihime left her sketchpad in the car. Four sleepless, anxiety-filled nights that have her wondering if she should just leave the country or go into hiding or just never come out of her apartment. Ever. Groaning, she huddles under her blanket, watching the late afternoon sunset melt into night.

The text message from Tatsuki has her jumping a foot in the air, as on-edge as Orihime currently is.  _'Are you feeling better? I can come over with food.'_

' _No, thank you_ ,' Orihime types back. ' _I don't want you to catch my cold_.' She feels a pang of guilt for deceiving her friend, but she figures it'll be safer for Tatsuki not to get involved. But that is, of course, assuming that Ulquiorra even cares about her stupid drawings to make her pay. She kicks at the air in frustration, punching her pillow savagely. "Why am I so stupid?" she moans aloud, sitting up. "Why, why, why?"

Finally, she decides to get out of bed, to do something productive today. "Four days of wallowing is enough, Inoue," she scolds herself. After a hot shower and a hastily eaten bowl of ramen, Orihime feels a little better. She decides to clean up her living room, and with that task completed in a few minutes, she heads into her bedroom to reorganize her closet.

She pulls everything out, rearranging them according to colour. It takes her the better part of an hour, but then she comes across something that makes her gasp. "My school uniform!"

It has been five years since she has worn it, so she tries it on to see if it still fits. The buttons struggle mightily to contain her ample chest, and then she pulls on the yellow sweater, giving a sigh of relief when it covers the exposed cleavage. The pleated grey skirt is a little bit more of a challenge, as it looks like she has gained weight around the hip area. She sucks her stomach in to get the hooks to close, and then struggles with the zipper at the back of her hips.

Then she looks at her reflection in the mirror, and bursts out laughing. "I look like a sausage!" she giggles to herself. For the heck of it, Orihime digs through her sock drawer until she finds her white knee socks, and then goes to the bathroom to do up her hair in pigtails. In her accessory drawer, she pulls out the little blue flower pins that Sora gave her, and then she pauses. Sora's old glasses are there, the thick black frames that she used to tease him about, with the lenses long since popped out.

With a giggle, she slips them on, prancing over to her brother's photo in the little shrine she keeps for him. "Look, bro. Your little sis is being silly," she tells him, pressing a kiss to her fingertips before touching the glass of his frame. She picks up her cell phone, seeing the message light blink.

The knock on her door has her looking up. "Oh, Tatsuki," she sighs, as she swings the door open. "I told you not to bother, I'm feeling- " Her voice trails off as she meets the astonished eyes of Grimmjow. With a squeak, her instincts kick in, and she slams the door in his face, successfully locking it.

"Please… Go away!" she calls out, her back to the door, just in case. "I will call the police, if you do not leave."

She hears a slight shuffling outside the door, sounding like there is more than one person outside. There is a brief pause, and then what sounds like a few people conferring with each other. Then it is  _his_  voice. "Woman, I will not let you come to any harm."

Oh God, he is here. Orihime panics, collapsing on the floor on shaking legs. "Please… go away," she yells through the door, praying they do just that. More murmurs can be heard, before he tries again. "Orihime Inoue, trust me. Please open the door."

This is the first time Ulquiorra has ever used her name, and the fangirl in her has fainted dead away.

Rising on unsteady legs, she looks through the peephole. He is definitely there, with the blue-haired bully, and Mr. Aizen. Swallowing hard, she unlocks the door, and opens it warily. "W-what do you want?" she stammers out.

The three men take in her school uniform, pigtails, and glasses with varying reactions; Grimmjow blushing a deep red, his eyes round as he scans her from head to toe; Mr. Aizen smiling with too many teeth; and Ulquiorra averting his gaze, blinking with his brows furrowed.

Mr. Aizen speaks up first. "Can we come in?" he asks smoothly, gesturing to the pouring rain.

Warily, she nods. "But if you try anything, I'm calling the police," she tells them, gripping her phone tightly.

Mr. Aizen smiles guilelessly. "Fair enough." He stands in the middle of her living room, his eyes scanning her paintings on the wall, the drawings on her fridge, and even the photos on her shelf. Then his eyes fall onto the shrine. He walks over, picking up Sora's photo. "Is this your brother?" he asks lightly.

Orihime feels unsettled at the invasion of her private space. "Yes, that is Sora. M-May I offer you some tea?" Good manners overrule her sense of self-preservation. Grimmjow though is acting out of character, bashfully hiding in the corner.

Mr. Aizen smiles politely. "Yes please. Ulquiorra, why don't you help her?"

Ulquiorra nods, and turns to face her expressionlessly. "No, I can do it myself!" she squeaks, backing away.

"No, please allow him to assist. It is only right, since we are imposing on you," Mr. Aizen says smoothly, watching her squirm with a secret smile on his face. She retreats into the kitchen, Ulquiorra on her heels.

He pulls out the cups at her direction as she sets the water on to boil. They fall into an awkward silence again, with him studying the tiles on the ground as she looks everywhere but at him. 

"When did you lose -" he begins.

Her eyes crash into his, all the colour draining from her face. The dishtowel in her hand drops to the floor. Here it comes.

"Your brother?" Ulquiorra continues in his monotone. Then he stops. "I apologize, if this is a sensitive topic."

"No, no, it's fine. He died seven years ago," Orihime gives him a weak smile, turning away to steep the tea. She heaves a quiet sigh of relief. Maybe he has not seen the sketchpad yet. They lapse into silence again. She hands him the tray and they make their way to the living room.

Aizen has made his seat on the armchair, looking as if he stepped out of a magazine. She notices that her photo albums are open on the coffee table. Ulquiorra hands him his tea, and then hands a cup to Orihime. "Please, have a seat, Miss Inoue," Aizen purrs. "Grimmjow here has something to say to you."

Orihime sinks into the sofa, taking a sip of her cup, as Grimmjow goes to his knees in front of her, touching his forehead to the floor in a deep bow of apology. "I am so sorry for my actions against you," he announces, settling back on his ankles, and then bowing down again. "I deeply regret scaring you and being inappropriate."

Grimmjow's face is red, as he seems transfixed by her attire. There is a fading bruise on his left eye and he averts his gaze suddenly. Orihime does not quite know how to react, so she tugs at the hem of her too-small skirt, trying to cover her knees.

Then Mr. Aizen turns to look at her expectantly. "I know this is nowhere near enough compensation for the distress and trauma that we have caused you, so we come with presents. Ulquiorra, if you please." Ulquiorra fetches a bag from beside the door, and unpacks it on the table. Mr. Aizen presents a white box to Orihime. "I understand that you love music. Please accept this." She stares down in confusion. It is the latest version of the iPod, one that hasn't even come out in Japan yet.

"No, I cannot, it is too much," Orihime says firmly, pushing it back at him.

Mr. Aizen unpacks it, smiling at her. "You can and you will. Besides, we made a special playlist for you on there." He leans over, hooking the top-of-the-line headphones over her head, and pressing the play button. Strains of Bach's Prelude to the Cello Suites flood her senses, causing her to flush as her eyes snap to Ulquiorra, remembering the car. He is silent, staring elsewhere.

The music is abruptly cancelled as Mr. Aizen pulls off the earpieces, his face uncomfortably close to hers. She jerks backwards. "And I did not know you were still in high school, Miss Inoue. Or I would not have gotten you the annual pass for the entire Tokyo Museum system. Some of their content is inappropriate for minors." His eyes heat up, and he sips his tea. "I can change them out-"

Orihime is torn. She has always wanted to see all the museums but has never been able to afford all of the passes. "Oh, I am not in high school," she says ruefully, realizing that she is, in fact, still in uniform. "I was just trying it on." With a regretful sigh, she puts the iPod back in the box and hands it to Mr. Aizen. "Thank you for your gifts, but there is no need. I accept Mr. Jaegerjaques' apology, as he seems to have reflected on his mistakes." She bows to Grimmjow. "Thank you for your apology."

"No, I insist." Mr. Aizen smiles, all teeth. "I really would like to get to know you better. And here," he dangles her little flip phone from a finger. "I've taken the liberty of putting my number and Ulquiorra's and Grimmjow's. If there is anything you need, let me know."

She snatches it out of his hands, warily. "Thank you."

"So tell me about yourself, Miss Inoue? I am a little concerned that one as beautiful as you is living all alone in the city." He settles into his chair, holding out his cup. Ulquiorra pours tea into it like the perfect butler. "What about your family?"

 

* * *

The sniper sights the dark brown head of hair through the rifle, setting the crosshairs right on Aizen's temple. ' _It would be so easy_ ,' he thinks, ' _and this would end it all_.'

He had spotted Grimmjow on his knees earlier, a look of embarrassment on his face. He watched Grimmjow bow to a woman with red hair, and relished his humiliation. He could not get a clear view of her face, but whoever she was, she must have been someone important for him to bow like that.

Now, he observes the people in the apartment below interact with each other. Then the woman turns, and he can see her face. The sniper whistles under his breath, surprised. ' _That girl,_ ' he thinks, ' _grew up to be delectable._ '

He watches Ulquiorra stand behind her protectively, his gaze on her whenever she is not looking. He smirks and murmurs, "Really, Cuatro?"

The sniper stretches his arms and shoulders, and then packs up his rifle. There will be other days, and better opportunities. But first, he has to process all this new information.

 

* * *

 

Another knock on the door has the men in the room tensing up. "Are you expecting anyone, Miss Inoue?" Mr. Aizen asks, setting the cup down.

Orihime shakes her head, eyes on the door. Her eyes widen in shock as the men in white suits pull out scary-looking guns from inside their suit jackets. She has never even seen guns outside of television. Aizen pats her hand soothingly. She pulls her hand away, eyes glued to the entryway.

Grimmjow pulls out his gun and flattens himself next to the front door, while Ulquiorra grabs his handgun, hiding it behind his back as he turns the knob.

"Hime-chan! It's us!" the cheerful voice rings out from behind the door.

Orihime rises to her feet, squeaking, "Wait, don't shoot!" just as Ulquiorra opens the door. Tatsuki, Chizuru and Ichigo stand there, holding grocery bags.

"Um… Do we have the right apartment?" Tatsuki wonders, checking the house number.

Ichigo's eyes narrow, as he glares at Ulquiorra. "It's you. Cif- The asshole."

"Grumpy Cat!" Chizuru snarls at the same time, shoving past him. "Hime-chan, are you okay?"

Ulquiorra tucks his gun back into his waistband discreetly, straightening his coat.

"Umm, why are you in our high school uniform?" Tatsuki gasps, looking between her and Mr. Aizen. The three of them stare at her for a long moment before arriving at the incorrect conclusions.

"Oh my God," Chizuru gasps, "Are you an escort? Is he your sugar daddy? Is that why Grumpy Cat was coming every week to the coffee shop? And -" she notices Grimmjow for the first time beside the door, "why he attacked us at work?"

"What?" Orihime squawks, sputtering. "N-no! Of course not!"

"Is he into some kind of kinky schoolgirl roleplay?" Tatsuki demands, planting herself squarely between Orihime and Mr. Aizen. At this, Grimmjow chokes and starts coughing uncontrollably.

"And are you in some kind of gang?" Chizuru wails, flanking Orihime's other side. "Oh my God, Orihime, you should have told us you were in some kind of trouble!" Only Ichigo remains silent, his arms crossed as he observes the men in the room, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Guys, it's okay!" Orihime stammers, her face redder than her hair as she waves her hands in the air frantically. "Mr. Jaegerjaques came here to apologize! Nothing more than that. Mr. Aizen was kind enough to bring him here, and Mr. Cifer knew the way."

Silence greets her announcement. "So… Why does Mr. Cifer know where you live, Orihime?" Ichigo asks finally. All eyes fall on the silent green-eyed man beside Orihime, who calmly sips the rest of his tea, and then collects all the cups on the tray.

"Ah, Ichigo, it's so nice of you to come," Orihime beams, trying to distract him. "This is your first time to come visit, thank you for coming. But as you can see, I'm fine! Really! Um, would you like some tea?" She doesn't wait for an answer, backing away towards the safety of the kitchen.

"I'll go with you," Chizuru says firmly, grabbing the tray from Ulquiorra's arms.

Mr. Aizen stands, brushing off his pants. He walks over to her, grabbing her slender wrist in his hand before she can escape. "Well, it's time we headed out. My dear Miss Inoue, I would like to see you again soon." Then, he bows over it, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. "Perhaps in the coming week. And of course you will see Ulquiorra before then, on Tuesday, I believe." He turns to the other three, smiling benignly. "It was wonderful to meet you all. We shall take our leave."

Grimmjow bows after him, still blushing, while Ulquiorra pauses, as if he was about to say something. Then, he gives his head a slight shake, and says, "Goodnight, Orihime Inoue," in his quiet voice, meeting her eyes for a moment.

She returns his gaze, suddenly feeling flushed. For a moment, it feels like she cannot breathe. Then he turns away, breaking the spell. She watches him walk to the door, exchange a wary glare with Ichigo, and head out the open doorway.

"Oh my God, is that the unreleased iPod?" Chizuru squeaks, snapping her out of her daze. Orihime turns to her friends, bracing herself for the coming interrogation.

 

* * *

 

"Were you able to ask Orihime about her brother, Ulquiorra?" Aizen asks, once they are driving away from her condo.

"She said that he passed away seven years ago," Ulquiorra answers as he navigates through the streets of Tokyo.

"Mmm." Aizen flicks a finger over the stolen photo of a young Orihime with her brother. "She is the one I was looking for, then. The names and dates match. But she doesn't seem to know me." He puts his chin on his fist, musingly. "Such a pretty, innocent little thing. Ulquiorra, Grimmjow, I'm going to give you both a special assignment."

Grimmjow peers back at him from the passenger seat of Ulquiorra's immaculately clean BMW. "Yes, sir?"

"I want you both to keep a close watch on our friend, Miss Inoue." His long finger strokes the rounded cheeks of the teenage Orihime in the photo. "Find out everything you can about her and her family. Especially you, Ulquiorra. She seems to have taken a liking to you. You can use that to your advantage."

Ulquiorra turns his head briefly and nods in acknowledgement, his fingers tightening on the wheel.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Ulquiorra steps into the glass doors of the business tower owned by Mr. Aizen. He has to admire his superior´s business acumen. Underneath all of his gang activities, he has made the foundation of his empire in the red-hot real estate market of Tokyo, buying properties right and left in the city centre. And this building, Las Noches Tower, is the base of Mr. Aizen's operations.

"Has Mr. Aizen come in yet?" he asks the security guard. The man shakes his head, bowing politely. Ulquiorra decides to head over to the convenience store on the corner of the building, to grab some supplies. He turns the corner, and a flash of orange catches his eye.

It is the woman's friend, the one who barged in last night. He had a fruit name, of sorts, and interrogated her as if he had the right. Ulquiorra's eyes narrow a fraction of an inch. Does the woman like this man? He recalls the flush on her face when the fruit-boy entered the shop, so many weeks ago.

He follows him into the convenience store, keeping it casual by slipping his hands in his pockets. ' _This orange-headed man- boy, really, even if he is all muscled,_ ' Ulquiorra snorts to himself, ' _his caveman chest-beating is quite juvenile._ ' The boy makes a beeline for the table near the window.

' _It doesn't matter,_ ' Ulquiorra thinks, heading straight for the cooler to help himself to a bottled coffee drink. The chimes on the door tinkle; a woman, petite and dark-haired, enters the convenience store. Ulquiorra grabs a package of wet wipes, some breath mints, and a Batman-themed Pocky, taking them to the counter. As he is paying for the items with his platinum card, he notices that the boy has gone silent. He accepts the bag and walks slowly to the door, trying to catch a glimpse of the orange-headed idiot.

' _It is research_ ,' he tells himself, ' _because Mr. Aizen is interested in the woman, and she is interested in this boy_.'

His step falters as he clears the last shelf and finds the boy locked in a passionate embrace with the woman who just came in. He quickly averts his gaze and walks out, the chimes jangling after him.

Ulquiorra is surprised to find himself annoyed by this turn of events.  _'Because when the woman finds out, she will cry,_ ' he frowns, exasperated. ' _She is too soft. She should know better than to like idiots such as him, who would only lead her on. And what right did he have to go to the woman's home, demanding that she explain our presence?_ '

The woman said she was attracted to Ulquiorra as well. A crush, she called it. He would rather not be lumped into the same group as that boy, thank you very much.

He glances over his shoulder to see the couple through the window, holding hands and gazing into each other's eyes. It is enough to make his skin crawl. He twists the top of the drink he just purchased, and takes a long swig of the iced coffee, before turning back and trudging towards the front of the building.

' _Not my problem_ ,' he reminds himself, taking another sip. Except now, it actually is. He does not want to have to deal with a broken-hearted romantic like Orihime. And if the red-headed boy is out of the picture, then… All of her affections would focus on him. That would make the situation even more annoying.

Ulquiorra knocks back the rest of his drink, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. A memory, unbidden, comes to him, of the look in her eyes as he pulled away from their accidental kiss. The complete and utter devastation of her defenses from that simple contact, and still she sought him out to apologize the next day. He is man enough to admit that the softness of her lips was… confusing… and he will not repeat that experience again, merely because of the loss of control it represents.

He looks at the autumn morning sky for a brief moment, before heading inside.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I am making no money from this, and Bleach does not belong to me.
> 
> Warning: REAAALLY long chapter. Patience required.
> 
> A/N: Once again, a huuuuge thank you to my awesome and wonderful Beta lilarin, who puts up with my endless dialogue and beats me into submission. Have fun at your camp, you wonderful woman, you. Also to my fantastic friend Sunny, who keeps my head in the game and listens to all the pervy stuff that does not get printed. Sun-sun!

**V.**

Ulquiorra knocks on the door of Mr. Aizen's office, and enters.

"Ah, Ulquiorra. Good, you're here." The tall man stands by the window, surveying Tokyo as if it was his kingdom. In a way, it is. "It is Tuesday. Will you be paying our friend a visit?"

Ulquiorra briefly wonders where Aizen got this information, but it does not matter. His boss does not wait for a reply. "She is lovely, is she not? And it seems she has quite a crush on you, too."

"She is foolishly naive and gets easily attached to people," Ulquiorra says quietly. The boss laughs at his assessment, crossing the large mahogany desk to sink into the imposing chair.

"And do you return her feelings?" Aizen asks, opening a drawer.

Ulquiorra almost snorts. "No."

"Good, good. I would not want my Cuatro to be distracted in any way," the older man says, pulling out a sketchpad. "She also seems to have idealized you in her head." He flips to the first page, showing Ulquiorra the picture of a demon with his own face and claws. "She is a talented artist, I'll give her that."

Ulquiorra can only stare, utterly transfixed by the image of himself glaring out of the page. Was this what the woman was hiding from him at the cemetery? And how did Aizen get his hands on this sketch pad?

While mulling the matter over in his head, Ulquiorra's gaze is drawn to the artwork before him, and it captures his full attention. He has claws and horns in this picture, but the most striking part are his eyes, with black tear stains streaking down his cheeks. It is terrifying and immensely sad at the same time.

Aizen studies the man before him, for a moment. "Well, judging by this image, I don't think she likes you that much," he says with a touch of malice to his smile.

Ulquiorra collects himself and nods, lowering his eyes again.

"But I will need you to stay close to her. Do you remember that journalist a few years ago?" Aizen leans into his chair, folding his hands. "Probably not, you had just joined the organization. It would have been before you became an Espada. You were so angry then," he trails off, lost in thought for a moment. "I was newly established, I had just gotten control of the Arrancars. And there was a young reporter who followed me around for months. He had gotten close to someone in my organization, and was working in conjunction with Momo Hinamori. Remember her?"

Ulquiorra did remember Momo. She had been an up-and-coming lieutenant in the Tokyo Police Force; sweet, naive and head-over-heels in love with Aizen. And then he remembered what Aizen had done to her before discarding her. She had had a nervous breakdown and retired shortly from the police force, leaving Tokyo altogether. But even now, Aizen had Barragan keeping tabs on her, ready to kill her if she decided to talk.

"Oh, Momo. She was adorable, just like our Orihime." Aizen's eyes are hard. "Really, if Momo hadn't told me about the reporter, all this -" he waves his hand around the room, "would never have happened. He had gotten his hands on some very important information. Transactions, bribes, and what else, I can only imagine."

Ulquiorra studies his boss, realizing slowly where this is headed. "And this journalist?" he asks.

Aizen grins at him. "I sent Luppi to take care of him. Seven years ago."

The timeline falls into place in his head, as Ulquiorra remembers what Orihime had told him. "Sora Inoue," he states.

Aizen claps slowly. "I knew you were a sharp one." He closes the drawing pad, and slides it back into his leather briefcase. "We never did find out what evidence he had. When I was looking into it, I found that he only had a sister, no other family, no girlfriend or wife. After he … passed, well, I figured that she was too young to know anything. And then Grimmjow took over from Luppi, and you know how things fall through cracks during transitions." He waves a hand in the air. "And then we ran into her at the Museum. Wasn't that lucky?"

There is something in his tone that has Ulquiorra narrowing his eyes in shock, realizing, "It was not a coincidence."

Aizen chuckles. "It wasn't. But I had fun setting it up. You said it yourself, the girl loves arts. She and her brother shared a love of Japanese poetry and calligraphy, and they especially love Ono no Komachi's poems. It was a simple matter of her getting tickets in the mail for that particular date."

Ulquiorra raises his green eyes to Aizen's, unnerved by how meticulously his boss had planned everything. "You want me to find out what the Inoue woman knows. And retrieve whatever evidence her brother had."

The boss smiles. "Exactly. You may need to work a little harder, Ulquiorra. Just keep an eye on her, get closer to her and then see what she has. Be her friend." He looks Ulquiorra in the eye, and says, "I know it'll be hard. But I need you to do this for me. Can you?"

Ulquiorra nods, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"And take Grimmjow with you. I'd ask him but he's too … unpredictable. Maybe he can learn something from you about self-control. With you, I'm not worried at all that you would lose your head over her, or your heart. Sometimes I don't think you even have a heart," Aizen adds with a smile. "The Primeras and Harribel can cover for you as my bodyguards for now. Keep me updated. I would like to see her in person every now and then, though. She is not hard on the eyes, and she has potential." He smiles like a predator, stroking his chin.

The green-eyed Espada bows, knowing he is dismissed, and heads out the door.

"Oh, and Ulquiorra?" Aizen calls, before he can leave the room. Ulquiorra stops, and waits. "It goes without saying that she should not know about the task I am entrusting you with. Tell Grimmjow as much as you think he can keep to himself."

Ulquiorra turns, and bows again. He walks to the elevators, stabbing the button with his forefinger. While waiting, he remembers the drawing, and the way the girl had dived into the dirt to prevent him from seeing it. And he actually likes the drawing that she made. Unbeknownst to him, a secret smirk curves half of his lips.

Then, the elevator dings, and the doors open. He gets on, lost in thought.

* * *

 "Really?" Grimmjow scowls, slouching deeper into the passenger seat. "Babysit her?"

"No, we need to befriend her. As in be her friends," Ulquiorra mutters.

"Can I seduce her?" Grimmjow asks hopefully. Ulquiorra narrows his eyes and does not bother to dignify this with a reply. "Is that a yes?"

"Keep your schoolgirl fetish in check," the dark-haired man mutters, pulling the car into a parallel parking spot. "Mr. Aizen wants her."

"I don't have a -"

Ulquiorra cuts off Grimmjow's loud interjection, getting out of his BMW and slamming the door. The taller man follows suit, standing on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop.

"I don't have a schoolgirl fetish," Grimmjow hisses furiously in a much lower tone.

Ulquiorra shoves his hands in his pocket, ignoring him. He heads to the cafe entrance, Grimmjow at his heels. The door opens; the orange-haired friend of Orihime's is exiting the shop with his delivery cart.

"Grimmjow," Ulquiorra says calmly, meeting the other man's eyes, "Go on ahead."

The blue-haired man notices the strange tension in the air. "Are you sure, Cuatro?" he asks, scratching his head. A glance from those cold green eyes has him shrugging. "Don't go hogging all the action now, okay?" He waltzes inside, patting the orange-haired guy on the head as he passes.

"Let's talk," the delivery man says, "but not here. Follow me." They move to the side of the building, into an alleyway.

 

Ulquiorra studies the man; he is extremely muscular, which is probably useful in his line of work. He stands with a rigid posture, as if he has had military or martial arts training, and his hair is cropped closely. It is the shoes that give it away, though, patent leather, and so shiny Ulquiorra knows if he looks close enough, he can see his reflection in them.

"You know who I am," Ulquiorra states, watching the amber eyes of the man across him. "But who are you?"

"What do you mean?" the orange-haired man tries to shrug it off.

"You almost said my last name at the woman's house. You are aware of who we are." Ulquiorra is getting irritated by his bluffing. He hates dealing with trash like this.

"Anyone would be," the man says defensively. "Everyone knows about Aizen and the Espada."

"But not my last name. We are all known by our first names." Before the other man can react, Ulquiorra brings his forearm across the other man's windpipe, and shoves him against the wall. "Who are you? Do not make me repeat myself."

The man drops the act. "I am Ichigo Kurosaki, and I'm a friend of Orihime's." He easily breaks Ulquiorra's hold, flipping over his head to land behind him. "What do you want with her? She's a sweet girl, and you'll only bring harm to her."

Ulquiorra shoves his hands into his pocket again. "How annoying. Are you trying to be her hero?"

Ichigo frowns, fists up. "Stay away from her, Cifer. And tell Aizen to stay away too. If you hurt her, you bastard, I will make you pay."

Ulquiorra stares at him for a long moment, his eyes unreadable. "I could say the same to you, Kurosaki." Then, he turns on his heel and walks away.

 

As soon as the dark-haired Arrancar is out of sight, Ichigo curses under his breath. He pulls out his cellphone, dialing a number by memory. As soon as someone picks up, he whispers, "Dammit, I think he's on to me."

 

The bells on the door chime again and before Orihime can look, she knows who it is. She feels his gaze rake down her body, and it is a tangible feeling. Whipping her head around, she smiles brightly at him. "Have a seat, Ulquiorra. I'll bring your coffee over."

He looks more mussed today, and unlike previous times, he returns her gaze. She feels a wave of heat shoot through her at the look in his eye; it is as if he focused all that intensity into her, searching for something. Then he looks away, walking past Grimmjow to sink into his usual chair by the window. She blinks, feeling like she is coming awake from a deep sleep.

Tonight, most of the seats are full at the Cafe, because the autumn nights have gotten a lot colder. The usual shift of Chizuru and Orihime has Tatsuki on hand to help manage the lines.

"One caramel macchiato and one hot chocolate," Orihime calls out, marking the cups for a teenage couple who start kissing before she has even handed them their change. Tatsuki nods, taking the orders from her hands. She smiles at the sweetness of the two, observing as the boy push the girl's blonde bangs away from her forehead. "Here is your change." She watches as they make their way to the table, pastry in hand.

The next girl in line pulls off her sunglasses, ordering a large brewed coffee. Orihime smiles, asking, "Long night ahead?" The girl nods, chewing on the stem of her glasses as her lavender eyes peruse the pastry case. "And one slice of the blueberry cheesecake, please?" She hands Orihime the money, and takes back her change. The auburn-haired girl feels a niggle of familiarity with this customer, as if she knows her from someplace before. "Have we... met?"

The girl stares at her for a moment, eyes unreadable. Then, Orihime's attention is captured by Tatsuki, who is wondering where Chizuru is. Orihime notices the stack of orders in front of the dark-haired girl, so she rushes to help make drinks. Once the drinks are made, Orihime loads them on a tray, and delivers them to the customers' tables.

Grimmjow has moved seats to sit next to Ulquiorra. They perch awkwardly on the stools, ignoring Chizuru, who has taken it upon herself to mop the floor around the two of them. She shoots daggers from her eyes at Grimmjow, who is carefully avoiding her gaze. Orihime sighs as she arrives with the tray. "One double espresso, and one Americano." She blocks Chizuru, carefully placing the porcelain cups on the table. "Please enjoy your drinks."

Before she can leave, Grimmjow clears his throat loudly. "Um… Hello, Bus- Bunny. How are you?"

Orihime forces out a laugh, for the eavesdropping Chizuru's benefit. "Oh, Grimmjow, you're so funny. My name is Orihime, remember."

Ulquiorra sips his drink, without saying a word.

"Orihime!" The blue-haired man smiles at her with relief. "Right."

* * *

 The customer watches the girl interact with the two Espada, hatred boiling deep within him. She talks animatedly to Grimmjow, while Ulquiorra pretends not to listen.

He leans back, stirring his coffee slowly as he studies the interactions before him. The object of his hatred has been reduced to a lap-dog, he notes, his fingers curling around the spoon. When he takes a sip from his cup, his hand is shaking slightly.

' _Interesting how life plays out,_ ' the man muses. ' _Who'd have thought that this little bitch would end up rubbing elbows with Aizen and his crew?_ ' He furtively snaps a photo of them with his cell phone, for reference.

' _He's definitely hooked_ ,' the man thinks, watching the Cuatro feign indifference although his body is attuned to the bright-haired girl chattering away. When she smiles, he averts his eyes, as if afraid to get blinded.

And the girl, she is definitely into Ulquiorra. She is facing him, even as she converses with the blue-haired freak. Every few seconds, her eyes dart to Ulquiorra. ' _It's like a damned high school romance. Aww. It's so fucking cute_.'

The man's fingers twitch, as if searching for a trigger to pull. ' _Too bad I'm going to blow their brains out soon_.' He takes a calming breath, waiting for the rage to subside. Planning deaths always helps him calm down. Now he is glad he waited before pulling the trigger, considering his newly expanded list of options. ' _And maybe I'll start with that one. It would be great to see the looks on the others' faces when I plant a bullet between the eyes of that person._ ' He looks at his intended victim, and smiles, draining the rest of his drink.

* * *

"And we really should hang out," Grimmjow finishes, handing back his now-empty cup to Orihime politely over the counter. "When are you free?"

Tatsuki and Chizuru push themselves in front of Orihime protectively. "Never, for you," Chizuru spits out in a low voice, trying not to make a scene. Grimmjow smiles sheepishly, rubbing his head. "Aww, come on, you both can come too. I'm trying to make friends with her." He is surprisingly charming when he wants to be, getting both of her friends to back down. Ulquiorra comes up to the counter, handing his own cup and saucer to Orihime.

Their fingers brush, sending an electric current dancing across her skin. Orihime gasps and drops the porcelain. Only Ulquiorra's quick reflexes save them from crashing into the ground and shattering into pieces, but he also grabs her hands accidentally.

"Woman, are you alright?" he asks, carefully untangling his fingers from hers to place the rescued dishes on the table.

Orihime feels her cheeks burst into flame. "Yes, yes, I'm fine!" She squeaks, flustered. She takes a step back, colliding with Tatsuki, and loses her balance promptly. Chizuru catches her before she can fall flat on her face. She straightens abruptly, and her eyes crash into Ulquiorra's. "I- uh, yes. Thank you for coming." She notices the dark stain growing on the sleeve of his pristine white suit jacket, and gasps, "Oh, no! The coffee spilled on your coat."

Grimmjow and the girls watch their exchange with round eyes. Ulquiorra looks down at his arm and blinks.

"Please take off your coat, let me try to get the stain out before it sets," Orihime begs. Both men straighten up, and Grimmjow stops her, shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it," Ulquiorra mutters, backing away.

"No, please, I insist!" Before anyone can react, Orihime races around the counter, grabbing Ulquiorra's wrist to drag him to the back room. "I am so sorry for being clumsy," she tells him apologetically once they are alone, pushing the coat off his shoulders. "It must be an expensive jacket, I don't want you to have to discard it."

He grabs her wrists, stopping her. "Woman," he sighs. "I have a weapon, remember? I cannot take it out in public without causing a scene. Not even in front of your coworkers."

Orihime stills at the reminder. "Oh. Yes. I-" she exhales roughly, dropping her head. "Right."

The back room of the cafe is tiny and full of supplies, so there is not a lot of room. She leads him to a tiny sink tucked in a tight corner between two shelves. Originally designed for one person's use, Orihime is forced to stand with his arm around her so she can reach his sleeve, running it under the water. To keep his balance, he braces his other hand on the shelf above her head, trapping her in an almost-embrace.

' _Focus, Orihime, don't think about how hot he is,_ ' she tells herself sternly, working the soap into a lather on his arm. She can hear him breathing, and it is doing crazy things to her own pulse. His scent is masculine and clean, and she half-closes her eyes, trying to tame her rampaging hormones. She also realizes he is pretty close to embracing her without actually touching her, and the thought has her flustered.

"Honestly, this is unnecessary," he grumbles, his breath tickling her ear.

She squeals, slapping her hand over it. "Don't do that! It tickles!" She turns her head to glare at him. Orihime is not prepared to see his dark eyes gazing so closely at her, studying her as if she were an exotic specimen.

Her eyes drop down to his lips, remembering that night, and how hot and firm they were against hers. Her own lips part, and she can only stare, caught up in his spell.

Ulquiorra watches her teeth sink into lower lip. It irritates him. She irritates him. And here she is, worrying over something as silly as a coffee stain, not caring that she is surrounded by men who want her for different reasons. She, with her laughing eyes and earnest words, is making him want to do silly things like protect her.

He looks at her, all pink cheeks and big grey eyes. His hands ball into fists. He wants to be the one who ruins her for everything else. He wants to be the one to wipe the stars from her eyes, to pull her head out of the clouds, so she sees the reality of the world, that it is not all sunshine and fucking rainbows.

He wants to teach her that the world has no room for her and her soft heart. He wants her to learn to be afraid, to be suspicious of smiling strangers bearing gifts. He wants to crush her, to kiss her until her lips are bruised and swollen and all she can think is his name.

The girl has no idea that her eyes are an invitation, with his name engraved in gold. She nibbles at her lips and he is angry because he wants to be the one doing that, to be the only man who knows what she tastes like. And he is furious with himself for not being able to control this fascination. Why is this girl not afraid of him? She even has Grimmjow eating out of her hands.

But he waits, water running on his arm, looking at the need in her eyes. "Woman," he tells her. "The water is too hot."

The spell is broken. She lowers her gaze to his arm, rinsing the last of the soap off, blotting the fabric with paper towels. "There," she says quietly. "The stain is gone."

He drops his arms and turns, a slight frown creasing his brow as he inspects his coat. Wordlessly, he nods at her, and makes his way through the maze of shelving, memorizing the work schedule posted on the back of the door. She follows behind him, head down.

"I will... see you later," Ulquiorra says, before going out the swinging door. He does not hear her reply, but merely strides through the coffee shop. Grimmjow runs after him like a puppy, following him out the main door into the crisp autumn night.

* * *

Orihime locks the front door, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. She takes out her strawberry lip balm, to protect against the cold, dry night air. The other two girls join her from the back door. She offers the chapstick to them but they both decline, chattering happily.

"Are you sure you don't want us to head back with you?" Tatsuki demands. "You've got weird guys following you around." Chizuru nods next to her, pulling up her backpack straps.

"I'll be fine," Orihime waves their concerns off, smiling. "You guys need to catch the last bus, and it's almost ten. I'll be fine, I'm only 25 minutes away."

Tatsuki opens her mouth to say something, but her phone rings. "It's my mom! Okay, Hime-chan, see you tomorrow."

Chizuru bows too, and both girls run towards the bus stop.

Orihime watches them for a moment, then smiles. She welcomes the solitude tonight, because she wants to think a little more about the green-eyed man she has a crush on. She slips on the headphones, blasting Dvorak's Cello Concerto in B Minor as she crunches the fallen leaves below her sneakers. He had looked so intensely at her, when she was washing his coat. She blushes, just remembering his eyes.

It is such a far cry from his first few visits at the café, when he never even met her eyes. Her fingers itch to find a pencil, to put his face to paper. She comes to a full stop in a whirl of leaves, remembering her sketchpad, and wondering if Ulquiorra has looked through it. A wave of anxiety rushes through her, and she sinks to her knees, grabbing fistfuls of her own hair in frustration. "Idiot!" she groans. Then an idea occurs to her.

Maybe Grimmjow has it. She had left it in his car, after all.

She pulls out her phone, checking the contacts. Sure enough, there is a number for Grimmjow. Orihime starts typing out a message. ' _Grimmjow, this is Orihime, did you find anything in your car?_ ' She presses SEND and lets out a surprised scream, noticing the pair of white slacks in front of her for the first time.

Ulquiorra leans down and pulls her headphones off her ears. "Woman, are you alright?" he asks, checking her visually for any signs of obvious injury.

Orihime has the urge to burrow under the mounds of yellow leaves and hide until he goes away. "Ulquiorra, you keep catching me on the ground," she tells him ruefully, brushing pieces of crushed leaves off her skirt and tights. It was a mistake to mention the last time she was on the ground, since it ended in that accidental kiss; now she feels even more awkward. Now she really cannot look him in the eye. Her phone buzzes. With a yelp, she leaps away from him, peeking at the message.

' _NA. D1d U LyV smtng Bhnd 1n my cAr?_ ' Wow. She was not expecting Grimmjow to text like... that. She darts a glance at Ulquiorra and replies furtively. ' _My mistake. Thanks and goodnight._ ' She throws her phone in her purse quickly.

Ulquiorra stands aside as she brushes more leaves off her backside, stalling for time. Her mind is whirling. What is he doing here? Did he find the sketchpad? Did the coffee stain not wash out of his jacket? She twists the hem of her sweater in her hands anxiously.

"What are you doing here? " Orihime asks out loud, walking slowly. He falls into step beside her, hands in his pockets.

"You did not hear me approaching because you had your headphones on. It is not safe to do that, especially in this neighborhood," he says, in his quiet monotone. She hears the rebuke in his words, and crosses her arms stubbornly.

"Why are you really here?" Orihime refuses to be sidetracked by his comments, jumping in front of him to look him in the eye.

As usual, he looks away. "I came to walk you home, wo-"

"If you call me woman again," she snaps, "I'll... I'll kick you. Is it really so hard to remember my name?"

Smart man, he does not reply. She whirls around, marching homeward. He matches her pace, striding beside her. Her frazzled nerves and skyrocketing blood pressure cannot take his proximity; she stops again, and watches him stop behind her. "Why are you walking me home, Ulquiorra?" Orihime asks.

He gives her a glare, green eyes gleaming in the street lights. "Because you are silly enough to walk home with your headphones on, in a bad neighborhood where anyone can attack you and you would not hear them coming. And then nobody would know what happened to you. You would simply disappear."

' _Well, he's got a point_ ,' her traitorous brain tells her. She remembers her brother suddenly, scolding her about the same thing, and grief robs her ability to speak for a moment. She swallows past the lump in her throat. "Have you had dinner, Ulquiorra?"

He does not say anything. "Let me buy us dinner," she tells him, grabbing his sleeve"I know a place."

She takes him to a late-night ramen shop by the train station, and the old lady who runs the stall knows Orihime well enough to put an extra egg in their bowls. Ulquiorra insists on paying, though, and the old lady takes his proffered payment with a deep bow and a frightened look at his suit.

"Huh," Orihime whispers, "I wonder why Mrs. Ramen Lady is so quiet tonight. Usually she's pretty talkative." She breaks her chopsticks apart, digging into the soft, salty noodles with a pleased smile. After a few moments, Orihime notices his food is untouched, and frowns. "Aren't you hungry? You said you hadn't had dinner yet."

He looks at it, and at her. "This is the first time I have ever eaten street food," he admits.

"No, really?" Orihime gasps in disbelief. The dark haired man turns his attention to his food, using his chopsticks to awkwardly pull the noodles out.

"Wait," she tells him, digging into her purse. She pulls out a plastic sheet triumphantly, covering the front of his suit and his lap before tying it behind his neck. "You're wearing a white suit and I don't want you to stain it."

He bears this all silently, raising the noodles again with an almost shy glance at her. "Go on," she says encouragingly, fighting the urge to take a photo with her cellphone.

He takes a small bite of the pork, chewing. "It is passable," Ulquiorra admits, taking another bite.

"Now the noodles, before they get too soggy!" Orihime beams, nibbling on the ends of her own chopsticks.

He takes a delicate bite of the noodles, then sucks them into his mouth cleanly. She bursts out laughing, as he stares at her with full cheeks. With much difficulty he swallows the food in his mouth, mopping up his lips with a napkin.

"Is something the matter?" Ulquiorra asks, having figured out how to bring another load of noodles into his mouth without looking like a chipmunk.

Orihime shakes her head, looking around. She notices that the seats around them are mostly empty. "Huh, it doesn't look particularly busy. How odd. At this time of the night, usually it's hard to find seats."

Ulquiorra turns his head, looking at the woman who is cowering behind the pots of boiling meat, and shrugs. They finish their meal quickly, in silence.

Once outside, Ulquiorra turns to Orihime. "Now, will you go home?"

She furrows her brow, imitating his expression. "Have you ever had taiyaki, Ulquiorra?"

"No, but I don't see how this is relevant," he replies. She breaks into a sunny smile. Three minutes later they are standing in front of yet another stall, watching a man scoop pancake batter into a mold. "You get the red bean paste filling, since that is the more traditional, and I have the custard," she grins, handing him a paper bag with the warm fish-shaped pastry inside.

They walk on a carpet of crispy leaves, with Orihime biting into her bread enthusiastically. Then an idea hits her. "Oh, I have to show you something!" She drags him to the nearest subway stop, eyes aglow. Ulquiorra is surprisingly flexible tonight and she wants to take advantage of that.

They get off at a stop in the center of the city. Both of them pause on the sidewalk, looking up at the TV station logo blazing at the top of a building. "Come on!" She pulls him inside, past the security guard, who waves them through, into a glass elevator.

"I hope you aren't afraid of heights, Ulquiorra!" she chirps, pressing the button for the top floor. The elevator lights dim, except for the floor indicators, to showcase the view of the skyline. He doesn't respond, moving to the other side of the elevator, watching Tokyo fall away beneath them.

Orihime watches him look out, his profile backlit by the lights of the city, feeling a tightening in her chest. ' _He is so beautiful,_ ' she thinks, ' _he could be a marble sculpture in a museum._ '

Ulquiorra turns to look at her, his eyes shadowed. Then he holds out his hand to her. "Do you want to see?" he asks quietly.

She looks at his hand, and feels her heart thunder in her ears. Orihime reaches out to grab it, and a memory flashes in her head, of her brother reaching out a hand to her, asking her the same question, in this exact spot. The grief is unexpected, making her pause as her eyes fill with tears.

Orihime turns around abruptly just in time, as the elevator hits the top floor. "We are not there yet," she tells him without looking at him, hastily dashing her tears away with her hands. Escape is the first thing on her mind, getting out as soon as the elevator doors open, taking the stairwell to the rooftop. His footsteps echo behind her as she finally pushes the last door outwards, into the night.

The cold wind is bracing. A lungful of clean chilled air helps clear her head, and she walks towards a bench set against a wall. The wind whips at her hair, blowing her tears away. He sits beside her, gazing out at the view.

After a moment, she speaks, "My brother- he was a journalist. He used to work in this building. He took me here the first time. This was our place."

 

Ulquiorra knows she is crying. But it seems inappropriate for him to offer comfort, so he sits and listens to her speak. She sighs and looks up at the sky, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. Her hair, held in check only by two blue clips at her temples, flutters in the chill winds.

"What was he like?" Ulquiorra asks, looking at her curiously.

She smiles, wiping her eyes with her fists. "Sora was my hero. I know it is natural for little girls to worship their big brothers, but he really was my hero. My mother was a lady of the night," she pauses, casting him a sidelong glance. "I am told I look like her. And my father was a drunk who beat us all regularly. But I am lucky. My big brother Sora, who was 15 when I was born, came and saved me when I was three. He told me later that he was afraid they would kill me. I was nearly dead from a beating the day he came."

Ulquiorra dislikes the fury her story rouses in him, the idea of a defenseless child under the irrational fists of an alcoholic, and the cold indifference of a prostitute. He busies himself with taking the pastry out of his bag, and ripping it into tiny pieces.

"I'm not scaring you away with my sob story, am I?" she asks, forcing a laugh.

' _This woman,_ ' he muses incredulously. ' _Why is she comforting me_?' He offers her the bag of shredded taiyaki, uttering one word. "Continue."

"Okay," she says, taking it with a sniffle. "It gets better, don't worry. He was 18 when he came back for me, barely old enough to take care of himself. That tells you what kind of a man he was. I was so afraid of him at first, you know. I cried for days, he told me, when he first got me. He couldn't come near me without my going into panic attacks. My parents died soon after he took me, and it must have hurt him too, but he held me when I cried. He was more a parent than they were. One night, desperate to connect with me on any level, he started reading Japanese poetry. The very first poem he read to me, was that waka in the museum. I read it at his funeral, too," she said.

After moment of silence, she recites softly,

"  _Was I lost in thoughts of love_

_When I closed my eyes?_

_He appeared, and_

_Had I known it for a dream_

_I would not have awakened._ "

Her eyes are dreamy and grieving. The tragic beauty of her face hits Ulquiorra like a sword to the gut; he feels like a hole has been ripped in his chest, and he does not quite know what to do. "Go on," he tells her, sliding his hands into his pockets so she cannot see how tight his fists are.

"He read me stories, and poetry, and that seemed to soothe me. But the big turning point was the day he gave me crayons and paper. I was four, and I drew a diagram of our building, complete with the faces of our neighbours. He was so proud, he posted it in the lobby of our building. I loved it. He got me picture books, art books, old magazines, anything he could get his hands on. And I loved it.

"And then school started. A girl on the first day called me a witch because of my hair colour." Her eyes go unfocused. "I swore that day I would never give my brother any trouble, and I pray to the Gods he never found out what hell I lived in grade school." She lets out a broken sob, covering her mouth with a trembling hand.

"It was difficult for him, being in university for his journalism degree on a full scholarship, and trying to scrounge up enough money to keep a roof over our heads. I was not going to make it worse by giving him any more trouble. Do you think he knows? I hope he never found out," she repeats, embracing her knees. "He got a job at the symphony as an usher. He used to sneak me in the back during performances, so that I got exposed to all kinds of music. I was eight. He was only 23. And he was the best brother ever."

Her teeth are slightly chattering now; Ulquiorra suspects it is more from the emotions coursing through her than the cold. Her tears affect him in a way that nobody else's has. He has faced down all kinds of people, but right now, in this moment, on this roof, with this girl, he does not know if he even has the right to comfort her.

"Then he got a job as a junior reporter. The pay was decent, but suddenly he was so busy all the time," Orihime rests her chin on her knees.

' _This is it_ ,' he thinks. This is the information that Aizen wants. But he cannot bring himself to probe, so he listens.

"He was an investigative reporter for three years for this TV station. At first he reported on smaller cases, like policemen taking bribes, or celebrities driving drunk, but he felt that people like my parents and myself were let down by the system, and there were bigger players that needed to be held accountable. He came home one day with fire in his eyes. He had found someone, he said, and they had done evil, unspeakable things, and they probably would do more, if left unchecked," she says, glassy-eyed.

"I was fifteen and I was more concerned about the people in my class. I didn't pay attention to what he said about his case. But I wish I had. He began staying out for days, leaving money on the table for me. He left me little notes with the bento boxes he made for me, about wishing me luck for school, but I never saw him during the week. A classmate put gum in my hair, and another had chopped it off against my will. He came home two days after this, and asked why my hair was shorter. And I- I smiled. And I lied to him. Looked him in the eye and said I wanted a change.

"And the next time I saw him, it was my sixteenth birthday. He handed me a pair of blue hairclips." Her fingers touch the clips holding her bangs away from her face, and big tears roll down her cheeks. "I was so angry, so very angry. That he had no idea about the hell I was living, and that all I got were these. I refused to wear them, insisting that they were childish. He promised me, one day, that we would see the world together. I ignored him, even if that was my dream. And I never saw him alive again."

Ulquiorra's gaze jerks to her.

"I went to school. It was a Wednesday, I remember. And I got home, expecting him not to come back for that night. But he took the night off from his investigation, so he could spend it with me. And he- he bought a cake. And this person he was investigating... Had sent someone to lie in wait for him."

Ulquiorra feels sick to his stomach because he knows what happens next. "He had just been shot in the chest when I got home. The police think it was literally minutes before I had arrived. I opened the door, and saw the cake box. And then I saw the blood." She curls into herself, hugging her knees tighter.

He is no stranger to trauma, having caused enough damage as the Cuatro Espada, but there is something moving about her quiet sobs.

"There was so much blood. And I don't remember what happened next. I don't even know if I got to say goodbye. The neighbours say I screamed and screamed and screamed until they all came running. They had to send me to a hospital overnight because I was in shock. I don't remember all of this. I don't. I wish I did. They never found out who did it. The only clues I got were from his coworkers, about him going up against a gang lord and getting executed. They never told me who, though. And I found out the next day he had named me in his insurance policy and his will. And I told the policeman and the lawyer that I didn't want money, I wanted my brother back. I just want my brother back. And that's never going to happen. I want to know why they did this to my poor brother."

He watches her, weeping over the loss of her brother. The agony she displays resonates with him; the parallel of losing someone connected to you more than anything ever will; followed by the realization that the next day, you will wake up to a world without them, and you will have to keep going on.

She is the softest thing he has ever known, with her skin like cream and hair that flows like sunshine on his skin; with her tears and her helplessness and her naiveté; the very embodiment of everything that he was taught to despise and destroy. And yet in that softness is a core of steely determination to survive. This is why her softness is dangerous; because it can break him.

So, why does this mere slip of a girl, barely a woman, bring him to his knees?

She rubs the heel of her palms against her eyes, hiccupping like a little child. ' _So frail and delicate_ ,' he marvels, as he wraps his thumb and forefinger around a wrist, pulling it away from her face. Her lashes are wet, and she blinks up at him, red-eyed. Following impulse, he slides his fingertips along her swollen lips, damp with her tears, tracing her hot cheek with his other hand.

She is like silk in his hands, hot silk. He tips her chin up, cradling her jaw.

"Ulq- Ulquiorra?"

Her lips shape his name, mesmerizing him. His gaze drops to her lips, fighting temptation for a moment. Then his viridian eyes crash into hers, searching for something; permission perhaps?

She stops breathing, and closes her eyes slowly. Is she shutting him out? Has he overstepped? Ulquiorra slowly pulls his hand away, averting his eyes. He is afraid that she will see him, all of him, and he feels strangely exposed, considering all she has spilled tonight. He has always been on guard around her, afraid she would see too much. She grabs his cold hand before he can pull it away completely, turning her cheek into his palm.

Then she opens her eyes, and he can see everything. Her sadness, her fear, but also her hunger. Her breath hitches against his skin, and he can only lean closer, to taste her lips.

Unlike the first accidental kiss, he takes her mouth deliberately, crushing that softness under his and taking it. She overwhelms his senses almost immediately, making him want to consume her. He licks savagely at her lips, sucking off the remains of her strawberry-flavoured Chapstick, as he pulls her closer, trying to get as near to her as he can. She tastes like tears and madness, and Ulquiorra finds that to be an intoxicating combination.

She is moaning against him, too, one hand clenched into a fist while the other grips his shirt. Her lips part, giving him access. Growling in frustration, he grabs her hips and pulls her into his lap, cradling her so he can hold her head as he takes her mouth. The breathless noises she makes drive the intensity in him higher, making him rip his mouth off of hers so he can sample the creamy skin from her neck to her ear.

"Please-" she breathes, whimpering. "Please, Ulquiorra."

She does not even know what she is asking for. The thought stops him cold. Breathing hard, he leans his forehead against hers, trying to get his bearings. Then he gently untangles his fingers from her hair.

Ulquiorra does not know why he wants to protect her, but he does, even from himself. Especially from himself. He allows himself one last, tender kiss, a last taste of her, a last dance with insanity, gently pressing his lips against hers one more time. She quivers in his arms, her hair whipping around them both.

"It's getting late, woman," he sighs against her lips, pulling away slowly. Her face falls and she nods. ' _What is it like_ ,' he wonders,  _'to have your every feeling broadcast on your face, like her?_ ' This is a luxury he cannot afford to have, but there are no secrets with this woman.

"You're so nice," she whispers as he offers to carry her on his back. He knows she is exhausted.

"No," he tells her, hoisting her up. "I'm a demon."

She tenses against him. "No, you're not."

He marvels at her resilience.

"You disbelieve me?"Ulquiorra asks, taking the steps down slowly as she holds on to his neck."I cannot feel." His brow furrows, realizing how ridiculous it sounds now, not after the way he ravaged her lips on the roof. "I destroy everything I touch. And I do not feel emotions the way other people do. It would be foolish to think I am capable of returning feelings; do not read into things too much," he says quietly.

She is silent for a moment, acknowledging the warning. Then she speaks up. "Would someone with no feelings visit a grave to mourn?"

He does not answer. He slowly slides her to her feet, seeing her face in the light again after the dark rooftop. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are the dark grey of a turbulent sky. "Tell me, Ulquiorra, who was it that you were visiting?" she asks, pressing the elevator call button.

"My brother," he tells her simply. She jerks her head up to look at him, reaching over to give his hand a sympathetic squeeze. The elevator doors open and they get on, watching the city zoom up to meet them.

 

He finds a calmness, carrying her home in the middle of the night. The woman has fallen asleep, her head on his shoulder. He cannot believe she is sleeping so peacefully on the back of a monster like him. He can feel her heartbeat, wrapped around him as she is. She hugs him from behind, and her breathing has evened out. For a moment he considers just taking her someplace that Aizen cannot reach her, in a mad dash to protect her. Impossible, of course.

He is Aizen's Cuatro.

"Orihime," he says, stopping in front of her building. "We are here." He backs her against the glass door, releasing her legs so that if she falls backwards, she does not hurt herself. She releases his neck, landing on her tiptoes. When he is sure she has regained her balance, he takes a step forward, trying to move away, but she throws her arms around his waist, embracing him from behind.

"Don't turn around yet-" she squeaks, pressing her cheek to his back. He freezes. Does she have a weapon? Was this all a ruse?

"I won't be able to say this if you are looking at me," Orihime says, her voice muffled. He relaxes a little bit, still wary. "I really really like you, Ulquiorra. I'm sorry, but I'll have to take my apology back. I can't apologize for having a crush on you."

"I-" Ulquiorra looks up at the sky, overwhelmed by the strange elation coursing through him. "I wasn't asking for an apology that day, woman. Now go inside. It's past midnight." He watches her arms disentangle from around him, feeling strangely bereft.

"Goodnight," she whispers, and is gone. He does not turn until he hears the glass doors close behind her.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the headquarters of the Tokyo Metropolitan Police, a certain redheaded man knocks on a door.

"Come in," comes the muffled reply. He enters the room, posture perfect, saluting the man behind the desk.

"Police Inspector Ichigo Kurosaki, sir," he intones, raising his hand in a salute to the Chief Superintendent behind the desk. "Reporting from undercover assignment."

"Took you long enough," grumbles his partner, a narrow-faced man who sits on one of the office chairs facing the Chief. "And good job, blowing your cover, with Cifer, of all people."

"Shut it, Ishida," Ichigo shoots back. "Not all of us could stay in the surveillance van all day watching anime and drinking sodas. Just because you're the tech guy doesn't mean you get to slack off all the time."

"Boys," the Chief sighs. "Stop bickering and give me your reports. And then we'll figure out the next step in taking down Sosuke Aizen."

"Yes, Chief Urahara," both of them chorus, chastened by the sandy-haired Chief.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Bleach is not my property, and I don't make any money from this.

VI.

 

"Are your bodyguards coming tonight?" Chizuru grins at Orihime as they finish up at the café. The auburn-haired girl blushes. It has been three weeks since that night on the rooftop with  Ulquiorra, and Orihime sees him almost daily, to walk her home after work. Unfortunately, he is always accompanied by Grimmjow, never giving them a moment alone.

Orihime  wonders if this is intentional, but doesn't mind. She doesn't know what she would say to him if they found themselves alone with each other. ' _He is like an egg_ _,_ ' she thinks. ' _I've broken through his shell but he still doesn't want to come out. But he is my egg, and I will protect him until he is ready!_ ' 

That kiss still haunts her. The way he had touched her... She had expected him to be the kind of man kissed you and devoured you, taking everything, like the lead character in a romance anime, but he was also remarkably tender and sweet. Not that she was an experienced kisser, of course. But still... It haunts  Orihime, especially when she is alone at night after they drop her off, and she is lying in the dark, trying to fall asleep.  

"Earth to Orihime." 

She blinks, finding Chizuru waving her hand in front of her face.  The pink-haired girl looks concerned. 

"Are they harassing you again?" 

"No,"  Orihime  says, laughing weakly. "I'm just tired." It had taken the better part of a week for  Grimmjow  to get the girls to relax their guard, by helping out at the coffee shop.  Ulquiorra  just sits at his corner sipping his espresso, and come back at closing time with  Grimmjow  in tow. And then they walk her home, all the talking done mostly by  Grimmjow  while  Ulquiorra  matches her pace silently on her other side. Although he barely interacts with her,  Orihime  is hyperaware of his presence, and it is beginning to take a toll on her.  

Chizuru touches her arm. "Orihime," she begins, "you'd tell me if you were in trouble, right? You know you aren't alone. Promise me." 

Orihime nods. "I promise." 

They both make their way outside, locking the door behind them. Sure enough, the two men in white suits are waiting. The taller Grimmjow waves at Chizuru, but Ulquiorra is studying the ground, hands in pockets.  They all wait for Chizuru to get on the bus, and then head for Orihime's.

* * *

Ulquiorra listens to Orihime's conversation with Grimmjow about a customer who had tried to return a half-drunk latte, claiming it was not what she had ordered.  Grimmjow reacts appropriately, scowling and swearing to yell at the customer the next time he is in the store.  

She looks at him expectantly too, trying to see his reaction. He flicks his gaze away a split second before she turns to him, so she does not catch him looking at her. There have been a lot of expectant looks from her lately. She turns back to  Grimmjow, trying to hide her disappointment. But it is written all over the slump of her shoulders and the slight pout of her lips. 

Ulquiorra  tries not to think about her lips. 

Maybe he should not have kissed her. It was bad enough that they kissed accidentally once, and he just had to do it again and complicate matters infinitely.  It is not in Ulquiorra's nature to regret anything. Deep down, he relives it, every time he sees her. His fingers itch to touch her softness, and he craves the flavor of her lips. She truly is a threat to his sanity. No; he does not regret kissing this woman. However, he does not want to taint her, especially now that he knows what she has been through. And what he is about to do. 

They stop in front of her doors.  "Goodnight, Grimmy! Goodnight, Ulquiorra," she chirps, bowing. 

He watches her race inside, the sunset of her hair flowing behind her in her haste to get on the elevator.  She meets his eyes for a split second before the elevator doors close, and she averts them hastily.

"Tch, Ulq,"  Grimmjow scoffs as they make their way to the parked car. "Why are you avoiding the bunny? You got her all worked up now, she looked at you the entire time we were walking here, even if she was talking to me."

Ulquiorra  does not respond, walking faster instead to escape the interrogation. Grimmjow jogs to keep up with him. "Oi,  Ulquiorra," he calls. "Are you still not interested in our  Hime-chan?"

"She's not your Hime-chan." He doesn't even break his stride. 

"But you said we were supposed to make friends with her,"  Grimmjow whines. "And you're totally ignoring her. You should be nicer to her." 

Ulquiorra's hands clench into fists inside his pockets, but there is no other outward sign of his irritation. 

"Fine,"  Grimmjow snarls at him. "If you don't want her, then I'll make her fall in love with me. I bet she'll be so cute as my girlfriend. I can just see her crying out my name while I fuck her in that little skirt, and she'll wrap her legs around me while she's wearing those  kneesocks , and she'll forget about you. She'll be so tight when I enter her-" He does not see Ulquiorra  move; the next thing he knows is that he is thrown against a wall, hauled up by the dark-haired man's fist gripping the front of his shirt, green eyes blazing. 

"You really have... peculiar tastes," Ulquiorra  tells him, his calm tone belying the violence of his actions. "Our orders are to befriend her, nothing more. And tell me,  Grimmjow , what do you think will happen if I show that girl an ounce of affection? Do you think she'll be satisfied with my ' _ friendship _ '? Do you think she is capable of protecting her so-called heart?" He shoves  Grimmjow  again, banging the blue head against the wall. "Should I just destroy her, then?"  He releases his hold, sending  Grimmjow  to his knees. 

"You fucking bastard. If you weren't Cuatro, I'd-" Grimmjow  hisses, getting to his feet. But he is talking to himself.  Ulquiorra is gone.

* * *

Aizen sipa his coffee in a hotel coffee shop when Ulquiorra comes to meet him the next morning.  "Come, have a seat." He indicates the chairs around the table, smiling jovially. 

The Cuatro takes his seat across the older man, his rigid posture reflecting his respect for his boss. 

"What will you have? Coffee?" Aizen waves a waiter over to serve the beverage. Ulquiorra nods, accepting the delicate patterned bone china cup and saucer. 

"What is the status with the girl? Have you been able to find out yet if her brother left her anything?" Aizen slices a sausage open, bringing it to his lips. 

"I'm sorry, Mr. Aizen. The woman has not been forthcoming with her information," Ulquiorra replies, his eyes focused on a black spot on the otherwise snowy linen tablecloth. 

Aizen wipes the excess oil from his mouth with his napkin. "What's the holdup, then? It's been a month," the boss says, a touch of impatience in his voice. "She's a loose end we need to tie up, and I thought you and  Grimmjow could handle it.  Invite her to a special dinner on Saturday. I'll have Harribel arrange for it at the museum. Make her feel like a princess for a night. If that doesn't work, I'll have to consider my alternatives." 

Ulquiorra nods, knowing that, to Mr. Aizen, alternatives often tend to be fatal. "Yes, Mr. Aizen.  As you wish." 

Aizen pauses, noting the slight frown between the younger man's brows. "Is there a problem? Is she proving difficult?" 

"No, Mr.  Aizen." Green eyes meet his, and they are clear and determined. The boss smiles. 

"Good, good. For a moment there I thought you were losing your nerve. The girl is beautiful, and greater men than you have been laid low by pretty faces. How is  the  Sexta ?" 

"He is behaving himself, sir." 

"Excellent. Well, this whole farce will end on Saturday, one way or another, so you can come back to your regular duties," Aizen says reassuringly. "Oh, and, do get a haircut, Ulquiorra. We want you looking presentable on your date, right?" 

Ulquiorra  does not reply, keeping his eyes on his untouched coffee.

* * *

Orihime is on her knees, mopping up a coffee spill, when the chimes on the door jingle.  She straightens, feeling that a hot current run through her again. Slowly, her head turns, and she spots  Ulquiorra , alone, heading towards her, determination in his green eyes. 

"Orihime, may I speak with you?" His low voice sends shivers down her spine, with bonus thrills for his use of her given name. He casts a glance at the blatantly listening Chizuru. "Privately?" 

She feels like Cinderella, but Prince Charming holds a hand out impatiently. Slipping her gloves off, she places her hand in his. He pulls her to her feet, his gaze raking over her face. Orihime  turns to Chizuru at the counter, and they exchange a wordless conversation with shrugs and eyebrows. Chizuru nods, holding up five fingers to indicate that she can take a quick break. 

He takes her to just outside the front door, still gripping her hand.  Orihime's  heart is pounding. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she notes that this is the exact same spot she had held his hand the day he dropped her off from the cemetery. Is he going to talk about the sketchpad, then? She takes a bracing breath, and finally meets his eyes. 

He looks bewildered, for a moment, as if she has caught him off guard. Then he collects his thoughts, starting with an, "I suppose you are wondering why I wanted to talk to you alone." 

"I am really sorry," Orihime  interrupts him breathlessly, her nerves getting the better of her. "You must have found my sketchpad. Now you must think I am some crazy stalker or something."  She bows down in apology, biting her lower lip. "I guess you never want to see me again. I understand."

His eyes show his confusion, then he furrows his brow. "I wanted to ask you if you were free for dinner on Saturday. According to your schedule, you will not be working on that day." 

"Oh."  Orihime  is embarrassed. She imagines the ground splitting open to swallow her whole. ' _Anytime now, please_ ,'  she begs the gods silently. 

"Woman?"  Ulquiorra  prompts, searching for an answer in her eyes.  Orihime  feels her knees melt. 

"This Saturday? Um... sure. I am free,"  she  stammers. "What did you have in mind?"

"Dinner. Don't worry about anything,  Orihime," he tells her, his eyes dropping to her mouth, as if drawn there against his will. His gaze feels more intimate than a kiss, and she nibbles on her lower lip apprehensively. 

"O-okay,"  Orihime  whispers shyly. "Is this a date, then?"

His gaze collides with hers, and she loses her breath. "I'll send someone to help you get ready," he tells her, studying her. Then he turns to leave. She reaches out to grab his hand.

His question does not escape him, muffled by her lips as she rises on her tiptoes to kiss him quickly. Then, with a cheeky smile, she says, "See you on Saturday!" before darting  back to work. 

* * *

Ichigo scowls from his seat within the surveillance van masquerading as a delivery truck. "That bastard," he growls, breaking into a string of curses. "What does she see in him, kissing him like that?" 

His partner quirks an eyebrow from beside him, his bespectacled eyes straying from the monitor to  Ichigo . "You're getting mighty possessive of our subject, Kurosaki. Won't Rukia have something to say about that?" 

Ichigo  glares daggers at him. "You know it's not like that with  Orihime  and I. She's like a little sister to me. For the record, I still object to using her as bait for the  Espada . She would be so defenseless against someone who kills people for a living. " His gaze is drawn to the look on Orihime's face as she watches the green-eyed man walk away, and he wonders if it is too late for her. Then Ichigo sees a flash of expression in Ulquiorra's face for a brief unguarded moment, and it makes him pause.

"It's like watching a drama," Ishida observes dryly, munching on some pumpkin seeds. 

"Shut your mouth," Ichigo tells him absently, rising to his feet.  He pushes  his earpiece in, needing to intervene. "Okay, I'm up." Pulling his cap onto his head, the undercover policeman hauls the delivery cart into the street. Entering the mostly empty shop, Ichigo carefully maneuvers his load inside while waving at Chizuru.

"Do you want these in the back?" Ichigo asks, picking up the boxes of coffee beans. 

"Yes, Hime-chan's in there to help you," she tells him. He nods, heading through the swinging doors. Ichigo finds Orihime staring into space, a dreamy smile on her lips. 

"Orihime?" He drops the box on the floor with a loud thud, snapping her back into reality. 

"Oh, hi, Ichigo!" Her cheeks blaze. "I guess it's that time, huh. Here, let me move the boxes around for you." She clumsily grabs a container, making room for his load. 

"Thanks," he tells her. "So what's up with you? You're glowing today." She lights up even more at his words, fanning her cheeks. 

"Um, so, Ulquiorra asked me out on a date," Orihime squeals giddily, jumping up and down. Ichigo stops for a moment, unsure about what to do. She looks so damn happy. 

" _Don’t you dare warn __her off, Kurosaki_ ," Ishida barks in his earpiece. Ichigo clenches his jaw. 

"Do you like him?" he asks carefully, moving a box from his cart to the shelf. 

Her smile is blinding and bashful. "I have a massive crush on him," she admits, playing with her apron.  "Oh, Ichigo, I like him so much!" Something on his face must have conveyed his thoughts; Orihime grabs his arm earnestly. "I know you think he is not nice but he is! He really is, he's just socially awkward. Once you get to know him, you'll see." 

Ichigo scowls at her enthusiasm. "Wait, you think he's just a misunderstood introvert?"

Orihime giggles. "You like to put labels on people, don't you?" she tells him, taking the next box from his hands. 

"Well," Ichigo rubs the back of his head, unsure about how to phrase things. "Just be careful with him, okay? He was very rude with you the first time I saw him, when he grabbed the tea out of your hands. It's not hard to believe that someone like that can get violent."

"Ichigo, he has a good heart," Orihime insists, her eyes shining. "You'll see."

"I just don't want to see you get hurt by a man like that. You're way out of his league, you know," Ichigo says, ignoring the shrieking in his ear from an enraged Ishida. "And men like that attract trouble like a magnet. He really isn't worth your time. You'll find someone better than that." 

"Well, it's only a date," Orihime says finally, with a touch of discomfort. She pauses for a moment, then asks, "Ichigo, do you like me?" 

He drops the box he is holding. "No, no! That's not what I mean at all," he protests, his face red as he bends over to pick it up. "You're my friend, I just don't want to see you get hurt!" 

Orihime smiles in relief. "Great! To be honest, I used to have a crush on you, because you are so nice, but I don't anymore. So I'm glad you don't like me that way. I was a little worried that you did, especially when you went to my house. We can continue to be friends then!" She gives his arm a little squeeze. "I'll tell you all about it when I see you next. Our date is on Saturday!" 

Ichigo watches her dance out the door excitedly. " _You idiot_ ," Ishida seethes in his ear. " _You almost _ _-_ " The orange-haired  man pulls out the earpiece, sighing. 

* * *

Saturday dawns bright and sunny. Orihime wakes up early, excited for the day ahead as she throws back the covers. It takes her ten minutes to decide on which shower gel scent she wants to use for today, vacillating between her usual vanilla or the more exotic lavender that she uses on special occasions. Vanilla wins as she hops into the hot spray, humming Beethoven's Ode to Joy. Orihime scrubs her skin until it is red and glowing, lost in daydreams about the coming date.

Breakfast is a tub of yogurt with red bean paste, hastily shoveled down with a teaspoon, while  Orihime  decides her outfit. The decision takes another two hours, with the auburn-haired girl pulling out all the clothes in her closet. She blushes at the sight of her school uniform, quickly throwing it back in the double doors. 

Finally, she has narrowed it down to two choices. A knock on the door has her yelping out, hastily pulling on the red-checked summer dress (the other outfit had more pieces).   She hastily finger-combs her hair as she rushes to the door. With a smile on her face, she twists the knob. 

"Hi--  Grimmy?" Orihime's look of welcome changes into one of surprise.

The blue-haired man stands outside the door, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Surprisingly, he is not dressed in his usual white suit, but jeans and a sport jacket. "Yo, Hime." 

Disappointment floods her. "Hi, Grimmy, what are you doing here?"

Grimmjow tugs at his ear, scowling. "Mr. Aizen sent me to get you ready. How much time do you need before we can go?" He stalks past her, plopping onto her couch. 

Orihime  is now officially confused. "What? Why would Mr. Aizen send you to help me prepare for my date with Ulquiorra?" 

Grimmjow shrugs in reply. "Don't know why either. I'm so much better than that green-eyed toothpick," he grumbles, slouching into the beige cushions.  

"But... I'm already dressed," Orihime sighs, plucking at her skirt.

He looks over her outfit lazily, and raises an eyebrow. "Pfft, stop joking around so we can leave already."  

"But.. but.. Grimmjow, this is my outfit!" Orihime  wails. "I don’t know what to wear! He didn't tell me anything." 

Grimmjow gets to his feet, heading into her bedroom. "Wait, where are you going?" she screeches, chasing after him. 

"To pick you a decent outfit, so we can go," Grimmjow  mutters, sifting through her clothes. "Boring. Boring. Blah. Grandma, you wear this?" He raises a crocheted cardigan up with two fingers, a sneer on his face, before tossing it over his shoulder. "Wow. No.  Not this, not this, hmmm..." he turns to her closet, swinging the doors open. Orihime doesn't like the look in his eye when he spots her school uniform. To her surprise, though, he merely turns red and closes the doors. 

"I guess that is the best you can do," Grimmjow muses, eyeing her current dress with a sneer. "Well, that's fine. We have a stop scheduled at a dress shop." He fishes out a list from his pocket, scanning it. "But that's later." 

"What is that list?" Orihime asks curiously. Grimmjow herds her out the room, pausing only long enough to hook her jacket and purse on her arm. 

"Stop asking so many questions, Bunny," he snaps, waiting for her to lock the door. Orihime trails after him, mystified, as they exit her building. She brightens, though, at the sight of his shiny black Jaguar parked at the curb. 

"Can I sit in the backseat?" Orihime asks, turning to the man beside her. 

He scowls. "I'm not your fucking chauffeur."  

Orihime's face falls. "Oh, I never meant to imply that. I'm so sorry!" She slides into the passenger seat, furtively scanning the backseat for any sign of her missing sketchbook. 

Riding in a car with  Grimmjow  is definitely a different experience from riding with  Ulquiorra, Orihime reflects. For one, Grimmjow's driving has her gripping the handle above the door and closing her eyes so that she does not see her impending death. He also likes blasting  JPop  out of his open windows, garnering strange looks from pedestrians. 

"Grimmjow!" she calls desperately, as he takes a corner so fast it feels like the car tips over on two wheels. ' _Whoever gave Grimmjow Jaegerjaques _ _a drivers' license should be shot_ ,' Orihime thinks, fearing for her life. ' _And whoever let him acquire a luxury sports car should be drawn and quartered_.'

He turns down the volume, looking at her curiously. "Yes?"

"How- how did you come to work for Mr. Aizen?" Orihime squeaks as he narrowly misses an old lady. 

"Oh, I got rid of the previous Sexta, Luppi." He throws her a smirk, shifting lanes abruptly. "He fed his old man some insider information about a few shipments of Mr.  Aizen's  that could be diverted to their family business, and Mr. A caught wind of this. So, yeah, I was still a new member of the Arrancars , but it was a great opportunity for me to step up and get recognized,  y'know. Luppi was  _let go_ ," he snickers, flashing his sharp-toothed smile, "but his old man had a lot more brains, so it took a while for us to track him down. Mr. Aizen finally caught up to him recently though, and had Nnoitra, who is our Quinto, take care of him." 

"Oh," Orihime muses, misunderstanding Grimmjow's words. "Mr. Aizen must be a powerful businessman, then? He seems so nice! I thought he was scary at first but he really must be a good person." She misses the look that Grimmjow shoots at her, a mixture of incredulity and pity.  

“Well, the old man died,” Grimmjow tells her. 

Orihime is touched. “Wow, really? So Mr. Aizen sent someone to take care of the old man before he died? What a nice man!”    


Grimmjow opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again, deciding against it. Finally, he pulls into a parking slot.  

"First on the list: a spa and salon," Grimmjow  announces, reading from the list. He unbuckles his seatbelt and jogs out of the car to open her door for her. She shyly comes out, clutching her purse. "Um, this place seems a bit... pricey."  Orihime  stares at the imposing, elegant building with wide eyes. 

Grimmjow  yanks her arm forward, grinning. "Don't worry, boss is pickin' up the tab."

The next three hours are full of strange and painful new experiences for the girl, as she is steamed, prodded, massaged, mud-wrapped, exfoliated and waxed by silent masked women in uniform. She realizes that all of her efforts that morning are in vain, and that she has absolutely no control over her own body. But it feels nice, in a painful way. Except now more people have seen her fully naked today than her entire life before this.

After she is rinsed and moisturized, an attendant shuffles her to the salon area to get her hair done. She spots her blue-haired companion lounging on a ridiculously tiny sofa, sipping a beer. Right now,  Orihime wants to die of embarrassment. Grimmjow looks up from the magazine he is flipping through, and waves. 

“Oi, bunny. You look like a drowned rat,” he greets as she is escorted past him. “You smell like a salad though.” He toasts her with his beer and goes back to his magazine.

The attendant places her in a salon chair. Orihime can tell that this is a posh establishment because the seats are upholstered in a plush velvet done in bright pink, unlike the usual fake leather chairs. 

Two people approach.  The head stylist’s name is Francois, and he falls in love with the colour and texture of her hair at first sight. The makeup artist is Miyaka, who purses her lips as she examines Orihime's skin.  After a quick conference with Francois, she applies makeup to Orihime’s face with a light hand as two other attendants paint her nails.

Then it is time for her hair. “Beautiful!” Francois gushes, deciding just to trim it to give it some shape. It takes an hour to blow dry everything, and another thirty minutes for him to curl just the very ends of her hair until she looks like a princess. He tries to take off her clips but Orihime shakes her head firmly.

They carefully help her out of the bathrobe into her dress, and  Orihime  is exhausted. She looks with envy at the napping Grimmjow for a moment before she has to prod him awake. He growls at first, then opens his eyes and blinks. “Hey, bunny! They took off your moustache!” 

Orihime’s hands fly to her upper lip, horrified. Grimmjow bursts out laughing, and whacks her on the back. “You’re too easy. Come on, we have to go.” He pulls out a credit card and pays on their way out. Orihime  tries to sneak a look at the receipt but all she sees are too many zeroes before he pockets it, wagging his finger in her face.

 

Their next stop is at a dressmaker’s shop in the trendy Harajuku district. Grimmjow pushes her into the glass door of a nondescript building, merely shaking his head when she looks at him questioningly.    


A slender woman awaits her inside, dark eyes curious as Orihime introduces herself.  “I am Yoruichi Shihoin. Thank you for not bringing Jaegerjaques  in here. He is not permitted in my shop,” comes the abrupt response. “So this is what Aizen sends me to work with, eh?” 

The woman circles her, black ponytail fluttering with every movement, taking down notes. She prods and pokes her for a little bit, chewing on her little cat-printed pen.   Orihime  lets her work in silence, not quite sure what to expect. After a long pause, the woman smiles, gold eyes glinting in the light.   


“I think I have just the outfit for you, my dear,” Yoruichi beams. “You have a great body, by the way.” She hustles  Orihime  into what she calls a changing room, but it feels like a dance practice hall, lined with mirrors on three sides and a doorway.  She is told to strip down completely, and  lacy lingerie is laid out for her to wear.

This is also a new experience for her, and  Orihime  finds that she likes the feel of the soft material directly against her skin. Briefly, she wonders what  Ulquiorra  would think of the lingerie. A flush spreads across her skin, while she imagines his reaction. Then Orihime falters, remembering her previous encounters with sex and how unpleasant they were. ' _No, don't think of that_ , ' the girl scolds herself.

Once she is mostly covered, the designer comes back inside the room.   


“Blue green, I think. Like a turquoise or sea green. It will set off your eyes, and make your hair glow.” She taps her lips with a long fingernail, thinking. “And your clips should be fine. Excellent.”    


Yoruichi  claps her hands together and a bevy of assistants come out of the back room, like ants. They peel off her sundress and literally sew the pieces of a dress onto her, a tea-length organza and muslin gown that shows off her collarbones.  

It takes about an hour to get the classic-looking dress on her, but when they step back and she can see herself, Orihime can only gasp. They finish the outfit with silver heels, making her feel like a movie star.   


“I’m a genius,” Yoruichi says smugly, hand on her hip. She leads Orihime to the waiting area, and makes her sit on the couch.  “But we’re a little bit ahead of schedule, so we can have a little chat. Would you like some tea?” Orihime  shakes her head, terrified she might spill something on the gorgeous dress. 

Yoruichi sinks into the chair beside her, legs crossed. “Tell me, dear, how did a sweet little thing like you get involved with  Aizen?”   


Orihime shakes her head. “Mr. Aizen is really nice, but I’m not involved with him. My date tonight is with  Ulquiorra,” she says shyly. 

The older woman frowns. “Really? Then why is he paying for all of this?”    


“I know, right?” Orihime sighs, plucking at the hem. “I think he feels he owes me because Grimmjow did something mean to me. It’s really nice of him but I think he’s going a little overboard.” 

“Also, let me get this straight, you’re going out on a date with Ulquiorra?” Yoruichi cannot believe her ears. Orihime nods, blushing. "Are you sure?" Yoruichi asks skeptically. 

At that moment, Yoruichi's  phone buzzes. She looks at it, then glances at Orihime. "Looks like my time's up." She rises to her feet with the grace of a cat. "Well, I wish you luck tonight. It was great to meet you. Here is my card, please keep in touch." 

Orihime smiles and bows, accepting the card and a paper bag containing all her own clothes. As she exits the shop, she sees Yoruichi's  worried look reflected in the glass door. 

 

The sun has set by the time she comes out, toting her bag.  Grimmjow  gives her a low whistle, clapping his hands. "Very nice,  Hime-chan."

Orihime is giddy and exhausted, but she pops a curtsy playfully. "Thank you so much for waiting for me, Grimmjow! I took away your weekend, I'm so sorry. Do you think- Do you think Ulquiorra  will like it?"  she asks, tugging at a lock of her hair.

Grimmjow snorts out a laugh, opening the passenger seat door for her. "Ulquiorra  doesn't like anything." He notices the look on her face and hastily adds, "Well, he might like your... ah, dress. It's green." Orihime rewards him with a sunny smile.  

He drops her off at her place, warning her that Ulquiorra should be on his way over shortly. 

Exhausted,  Orihime drops her bag and her clothes next to the door, slipping off her heels. The couch is tempting. She sinks into it,  exhausted, and in a few moments, is sleeping peacefully.

* * *

 

Ulquiorra  knocks on  Orihime's  door. No response.  He knocks again. Is she busy?  Grimmjow  texted that he had dropped her off twenty minutes ago. When he knocks a third time, the door swings open. 

Warily, he goes for the gun tucked in his shoulder holster, pulling it out of his coat as he steps into the apartment. Then he pauses, catching sight of the sleeping woman on the sofa, her head tipped to the side. Sighing, he slides his gun back into the holster and crouches down on his heels, studying Orihime's  face. 

The silly girl does not even lock her door. How can she stand a chance against everything he represents? Ulquiorra's eyes roam over her newly-shaped eyebrows. ' _There was nothing wrong with them previously, _ ' he thinks, scowling. His gaze lingers over the curve of her cheek, where her artificially-darkened eyelashes rest. The flush is all hers, though, and he carefully avoids looking at her lips, knowing the danger they pose to his sanity. 

She does look tired, he concedes, but he has a schedule to keep. "Woman," he says gently, touching her hand. Her skin is so soft. She groans, curling up into a ball on the seat of the couch. 

Ulquiorra  tries again, shaking her shoulders. "Orihime." 

She bolts upright, eyes wide. There are marks on her cheek from the creases on the couch, and it is adorable. " Ulquiorra!" she squeaks, backing away. "How did you get in here?"

The predator in him wants to eat her up. He studies her for a moment, tempted to throw tonight's carefully orchestrated plans to the wind, and just dive into her lips. No. He gives himself a mental shake. 

"You did not lock the door."  Ulquiorra  rises to his feet, holding out his hand. "Let's go." 

She takes his hand, transfixed by his face.   


"What is it?" He pulls her to  her  feet, but she cannot stop looking. Her hand extends towards his face, and  Ulquiorra  feels uncharacteristically self-conscious. 

"You cut your hair." Her eyes are round as she stares at his head.

Ulquiorra averts his eyes, fighting not to blush. "Yes." Then she runs her fingers through his newly shorn locks.  He stills, watching the wonder in her eyes. 

"You look so...," her voice trails off, as she meets his gaze. "sexy. I mean, handsome! Not that you didn't before. Your hair is still long, but it makes you look so different. Like Sebastian in Black Butler. But in a good way, because he's a demon. Like younger. And you're so much hotter." She covers her cheeks with her hands, trying to stem the flow of words out of her mouth. "I- oh gosh- I'm sorry, I will shut up now."

Ulquiorra stares at the floor, trying to ignore the amusement coursing through him. He feels the corner of his mouth twitching against his will. "Thank you, woman," he murmurs, managing to keep his face impassive. 

She flits around, trying to find her shoes and bag.  "I'm ready now,"  Orihime  tells him triumphantly, gr a y eyes shining. "Is my outfit okay? I wasn't sure where we were going." He finally gets a good look at her, as she stands in the doorway, and  Ulquiorra , for the first time in his life, has to catch his breath at the sight of her. 

The girl looks at him in concern, cocking her head, sending her curls bouncing. "Are you all right, Ulquiorra?"

He manages to nod stiffly. "I am fine. And you look-- exquisite." The smile that spreads across her face has him needing to touch her, so he grabs her hand, lacing her fingers into his. "Let's go, Orihime. And don't forget to lock the door."

* * *

Somewhere across town, a man sits on a rooftop, checking his equipment. He decides to forgo his laser rangefinder, opting to go with his handheld guns. No more long-distance rifles. It is time for him to look the bastards in the eye and end their existence. He secures his dark hair with an elastic, to make sure it does not get in the way.

His headset streams a conversation from Mr.  Aizen , thanks to the bug he planted on the criminal leader's watch. This is why he is here now, getting ready for his move.

' _This is it,_ '  he tells himself.  ' _It ends tonight._ ' 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lilarin, my wonderful Beta!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Bleach, Bentley and the Nezu museum do not belong to me. I don't make any money from this, sorry.  
> A/N: Thanks to my beta, Lilarin! You are awesome as always. Please let me know what you think, good, bad, or even meh. You guys are what keep this story going. Cheers!

**VII.**

 

"Good job, Kurosaki," Ishida mutters sarcastically to his partner, Ichigo. "Now, instead of tracking them via GPS, or even cell signal, we have to tail them visually, like some neophytes fresh out of the academy."

The other man scowls, leaning forward in the passenger seat. "I already said I was sorry for spilling my drink on the laptop, okay? Besides, the tracker we put on Cifer's car is useless, he took a limousine anyway." Ichigo drums his fingers impatiently on the dashboard of the van.

"Well, at least our mission is still moving along, even if you tried your best to talk the subject out of it," Ishida shoots back, pushing his glasses up as he eases on the gas pedal. "And I guess it's a good thing you're not setting foot out of the van, this time, now that our target can recognize your face. How's Rukia coming along with the warrants? Must be convenient that you're boinking the district attorney."

Ichigo's eyes narrow. "Do not speak of my girlfriend that way, asshole." The serious tone of his voice chills the air.

Ishida casts a sidelong glance at him, then returns his gaze to the road. "Sorry, that was out of line."

The redheaded man sighs, and scrubs his face with his hands. "Well, she says that we can't do anything without probable cause. And we should hear from the team at Aizen's soon."

"Jinta and Ururu?" Ishida snorts, switching lanes. "I don't know why the Chief sent those brats to cover Aizen's home. They're still pretty wet behind the ears. But I suppose anything is better than being stuck with you. So, that friend of yours, the subject, does she have any idea what is going to happen tonight?"

Ichigo shakes his head, worried. "I don't know what Aizen or Cifer have planned for her, but it can't be good. That bastard Cifer is leading her like a lamb to slaughter."

"Probable because it is tricky, you know that," Ishida sighs. "Remember, Kurosaki, we aren't here to catch Ulquiorra. We have to get something we can nail Aizen with, or else all our months of stalking are down the drain. Is that clear?"

"Yes," Ichigo grumbles, sinking down in his seat.

 

* * *

 

' _She chatters when she is excited_ ,' Ulquiorra muses, watching the girl sitting in the luxurious white limousine next to him explain in excruciating detail how the women in the spa had applied hot wax to her legs and then ripped all the hair out by the roots. He declines when she raises her leg up for him to touch, afraid he may end up taking more than what she is offering.

Orihime is breathtaking tonight, her eyes aglow with anticipation, and it has been difficult for him to keep his hands to myself. The limousine is like a new toy for her; she touches the buttery-soft leather with curious fingertips, flipping the refrigerator open to gasp at the champagne chilling within. The buttons on the console have her puzzled; she jumps in surprise when a TV pops out from the ceiling.

A niggle of jealousy bothers him; he knows that she spent the afternoon with Grimmjow. It is humiliating for Ulquiorra to admit this much. After all, he was the one who selected the blue-haired Sexta to escort her.

Coming back to the present, he notices the silence. She is staring out the window now, her forehead knitted with anxiety. "What is it?" he asks, reaching over to brush his fingers over the back of her hand.

"Mr. Aizen," she says simply. "I feel bad letting him pay for all the stuff today, especially for this gorgeous dress, which could not come cheap. I wish I could say thank you to him. If there was a way I could repay him for his kindness..."

_'No,'_  he answers in his head, lead in his stomach. ' _It isn't kindness. He wants something from you. They all do; I as well. And he owes you, for taking your brother away_.'

His thoughts drift to his own brother, and the bastard of a father who separated them. His life has been shaped by his need for revenge, in hammering out his destiny away from his father's clutches, hoping one day to go back and grind him into dust under his heel. In a way, he envies Orihime for not knowing who killed her brother; she remains untainted by the thirst for vengeance.

She touches his hand carefully, as if approaching a stray animal; ready to back away in case he rejects her. "Ulquiorra," Orihime murmurs. "Thank you for asking me out tonight. You look, well..."she blushes at her boldness, taking in his shorter, styled hair, and the way his broad shoulders fill out the Italian suit."You look amazing. That suit fits you really well." She slides her fingers into his, averting her eyes.

He lets her hold his hand; truth be told, this is the first time he has held a woman's hand so platonically. He is no virgin; years on the streets as Aizen's Arrancar have seen to that. Innocence is a commodity that he never possessed. All his previous experience is made up of sordid encounters in dark corners, furtive couplings in unfamiliar beds with women whom he never sees again, all to sate a physical itch, none of it important. In fact, he cannot recall the last time he kissed anyone else.

She is dangerous, this woman-child. Just the touch of her fingers on his palm has him strung tighter than a violin string. Her vibrant eyes and sweet wholesome scent cloud his head, bringing forth a temptation he cannot bear. But he cannot release her hold on him, not now when she is at risk like this.

He tightens his hand around her fingers, words and sighs tripping out of her lips. Then she subsides, returning her gaze to the window. In the ensuing silence, he watches her face light up in the reflection on the window.

"Ulquiorra, are we at the Nezu Museum?" she cries, pulling away to press her nose to the glass. His skin mourns the loss of contact. Crossing his arms, he observes her excitement without saying a word. "Oh, this is so sweet of you."

The limousine navigates the circular driveway, gliding to a halt before the steps of the entryway. The driver opens the door for them.

Ulquiorra makes his way out, holding his hand to Orihime to help her up. Her heels are shiny and ridiculously high; she totters on them, unused to their height, but he is man enough to appreciate how they make her legs look. She flashes him a grin. "Shall we go in?"

* * *

 

"The Nezu Museum, huh?" Ishida peers outside his window, from where they are parked in the street. "Too bad we couldn't get inside the gates."

"But can you tap into their surveillance system?" Ichigo demands, climbing into the back where all the monitors are.

Ishida snorts. "Who do you think I am?" He makes it over the front seat, settling into the other chair in front of the computers. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he boots up the system. "Give me two minutes."

The bespectacled man bursts out laughing. "Some security. The system password, get this, is 0000. Okay, let me decrypt the stream so we can see the feed from the cameras. And here we go." The bank of monitors light up, each screen showing a subset of cameras inside the museum.

"No audio?" Ichigo teases his partner, quirking up an eyebrow.

Ishida scoffs, "Pick a camera, any camera, and I'll give you your audio." Some movement catches their attention, so the techie expands it on one monitor, the audio feed coming in a little fuzzy.

 

* * *

 

"I've never been to a museum at night," Orihime confides as they wander through the dimmed, empty corridors. "Are we allowed to be here? It feels... naughty."

Naughty. Ulquiorra ponders the word, and the many, many interpretations it implies, including one that has her flushed and sweaty and moaning his name as he – no. He regains control of his runaway imagination, wondering why it is more difficult to focus tonight.

"Yes, we have permission to be here," he tells her, steering her to the stairs.

Orihime gazes up at the seemingly endless flight, uncertain. "Um, I suppose the elevators are out, since it's after hours," she says with a sigh.

"Your shoes are uncomfortable?" Ulquiorra asks, eyeing her feet.

"Yes, but that's because they're new and I'm not used to wearing such high heels," Orihime admits. "But I like being able to look you in the eye. Mostly I'm afraid of tripping and breaking an ankle or falling down the stairs in front of you." She smiles ruefully.

"I can carry you upstairs, if you wish," he offers, noting how her teeth sink into her lower lip as she considers this. "I have carried you before, after all, for a further distance," he adds. "You are not that heavy."

"Ah, no, that's okay, I can just walk barefoot. It's not that big of a deal," the girl protests, kicking her shoes off. Ulquiorra sighs, bending down to grab her shoes in one hand, capturing her fingers with the other.

"Come, then," he commands, striding forward. She stares at their joined hands for a moment. "It is dark," Ulquiorra states, "and I do not want you to get lost." He is rewarded with a shy smile as she dances up the stairs beside him.

 

They wander through the gallery, with Orihime providing him with an admittedly witty commentary about the artworks ("That piece was painted with a brush made from monkey hairs! Imagine being the one to gather them!" or, "The empress in the portrait had sixteen children. Sixteen. I would be cranky too.") A few times, Ulquiorra feels his lips twitch against his will, but he manages to keep his face impassive for the most part.

A lull in the conversation finds them both staring at a painting of a bowl of strawberries, reminding Ulquiorra of a matter that is annoying him. "That delivery man. The one who came to your house," he says casually, his eyes discreetly observing her body language.

"Oh, Ichigo? Yes? What about him?" Orihime asks guilelessly as she examines a painting of samurai in battle.

"Do you desire him?" he inquires, watching the flush cross her cheeks.

"No!" Her hands flutter as she looks at him with something close to panic. "No, but I used to have a crush on him. I mean, why are you asking, Ulquiorra."

He turns to face a landscape painting, lacing his hands behind his back. "I witnessed him with a woman, and if I would hazard a guess, he is in a relationship with her." The silence that meets his statement has him facing her again. He is surprised by the mirth in her eyes, as she studies the expression on his face.

"This is humorous?" Ulquiorra asks her, mystified by the female mind.

She shakes her head, laughing. "No, Ulquiorra. But it's sweet of you to tell me." She slides her fingers into his hands, leaning her head on his shoulder.

 

He leads her into the room where they first ran into each other. Orihime stops at the door, her smile fading, as she gazes around in bewilderment. The room is aglow with a thousand fairy lights, bringing a golden glow to the otherwise cavernous gallery. Ulquiorra makes a mental note to thank Harribel for setting this up. The focal point of the decor is the table on the open balcony, the white tablecloth wafting gently in the breeze.

The look on Orihime's face is priceless. She gives him a teary-eyed smile, causing a strange sensation in his stomach.

"Are you displeased?" he asks, his brows drawing together.

"No, no. Ulquiorra, it's so beautiful." She dashes a hand against her cheek quickly, sniffling. "I'm just so -" Abruptly, she throws her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly as she buries her face in the front of his trench coat, into his soft beige sweater. Startled, he backs away, knowing she is quite literally inches away from the weapons in his holsters. She is surprised by his rejection, turning to grab her own elbows, forcing a smile. He feels strangely guilty, as if he kicked a puppy.

"Sorry, Ulquiorra. I forget myself sometimes," she says quietly, walking over to an exhibit. It is not the same one she shared with him previously, but she reads it aloud to him.

"Although I come to you constantly

over the roads of dreams,

those nights of love

are not worth one waking touch of you."*

Orihime glances at him, smiling bashfully. "Ono no Komachi has some beautiful poems about longing." The sadness in her eyes has him in her grip. Helplessly drawn to her, Ulquiorra takes a step into her direction, then another, until he is standing a breath away. He tilts up her chin in his fingertips, his green eyes searching hers.

 

* * *

 

"Hah. Cifer knows you're in a relationship. I wonder what else he knows about you? I'd ship them, though. Bubbly girl and emotionally distant guy, stereotypical opposites attracting. Never gets old. " Ishida quips, slurping the straw of the yogurt drink in his mouth loudly. "Do you think he's going to kiss her?"

Ichigo is muttering under his breath, trying not to look. "I feel like a voyeur. This doesn't feel right to me. And how the hell does he know about Rukia?"

"He's leaning in! Is he going to kiss her?" Ishida drops the straw from his mouth, bringing his face closer to the monitor. "This is much better than a drama. Damn it, the camera angles don't work from here. Let me move them around." He fiddles with the controls for a moment, but some movement in a different frame catches his eye. "Wait a minute, who's that?" he asks aloud, causing Ichigo to turn back towards the screens. Ishida zooms into the corridor, where a blond woman strides down the hallway, the lower half of her face obscured by her high collar.

In the gallery view, Ulquiorra pulls away from the girl, standing beside her with his hands in his pockets. "Aww, he heard her coming," Ishida says, disappointed. "So sad. But who is that woman?"

"Ishida, can you be more professional? This is not for your entertainment," Ichigo grinds out, his eyes straying to the other monitor. "Wait a minute; that's Tier Harribel, the Tres." They watch the woman enter the room, and introduce herself to the orange-haired girl, complimenting her on her dress. Then she brings them both to the balcony, seating them at the table.

"Look, here in this room," Ishida points, pulling up another camera angle. "They've set up a mobile kitchen." Three people in white chef's hats and uniforms enter, bringing covered dishes. "Huh, so they really are on a date, eh? Have you ever done this for Rukia?"

Ichigo's glare can cut glass. "Stay focused, Uryuu." The redhead eyes the couple on the monitor. "They seem to be getting ready for dinner. Can you zoom in closer?"

"No, unfortunately there are no cameras on that balcony close enough to pick up audio too. " Ishida mutters to himself, his fingers flying over the keyboard. "But I'll try my best."

Ichigo opens another yogurt drink from the cooler, stabbing it with a straw and then placing it in front of Ishida. "Just hurry, Ishida," he says, concern in his voice.

Ishida pauses in his typing, eyeing the yogurt suspiciously. "Did you shake it properly before putting the straw in?"

"What?"

"The yogurt. To prevent sedimentation of the product. Did you shake it? Also, you touched the straw with your filthy fingers. Are you expecting me to drink that?" Ishida raises an eyebrow, pushing his glasses back.

Ichigo trades glares with him. "Get the audio," he growls, imagining for a moment stabbing Ishida in the eye with the aforementioned straw. Ishida stares back, unflinchingly.

Sighing loudly, Ichigo grabs a napkin, using it to grip a fresh straw, and pulls a fresh yogurt drink out of the cooler. He shakes it deliberately, and stabs the straw inside, pushing it at his partner.

"The straw is bent." Ishida mutters, frowning. Ichigo begins counting down backwards from a hundred in his head.

 

* * *

 

Tier Harribel smiles at the girl. ' _So this is Mr. Aizen's new pet?_ ' she thinks to herself, eyeing the younger woman who is making eyes at Ulquiorra across the table. "Would you care for some champagne, Miss?" she asks aloud, proffering a bottle of Brut.

The girl shakes her head. "I don't drink alcohol, Miss Harribel. And you can call me Orihime, please."

The blonde Tres pours her a glass anyway, ignoring the glare blasted her way by the Cuatro. "Trust me, dear, you'll need this. And call me Tier," she says with a wink, pouring to the brim. She laughs as Orihime takes a sip and wrinkles her nose.

"The bubbles are going down my throat," the girl says, blinking artlessly before erupting into continuous sneezes.

Tier has to admit that the girl is pretty cute. Then she notices a crack in Ulquiorra's façade, as he gazes almost affectionately at the now-sneezing girl, leaning forward to offer her a napkin. Tier's eyes widen in shock; she hurriedly grabs Ulquiorra's arm. "A word, Ulquiorra?" She does not wait for an answer, striding towards the hallway.

He excuses himself and follows her into the corridor, straightening his dinner jacket as he walks. "What is it, Tier?"

"I saw that look." The blonde studies her aloof subordinate. "You like her."

Piercing green eyes lift to meet hers, challenging Tier. "What of it?" As far as she knows, he had never lied to her. This is the one defining rule of their professional relationship. "It does not change anything. My mission still remains."

"Don't let Mr. Aizen know," Tier tells him quietly. "He's got his eye on her, and has plans for her. It would be fruitless for you to act on this attraction. " He stalks past her, but she grabs his shoulder. "Ulquiorra. Of all the other Espada, Mr. Aizen values your detachment and objectivity most. If he thinks that is compromised, your life could be forfeit. I respect you as a coworker, which is why I am warning you."

Ulquiorra turns, meeting her gaze again for a moment. He gives her a curt nod of thanks, and proceeds inside.

The Tres sighs. She has a soft spot for the Cuatro; she remembers when he was just a boy, angry and lost, starting his life over as an Arrancar. And now he probably is going to get in trouble with their boss for playing with the new girl. But ... she has never seen the dark-haired man display any emotion aside from irritation. And he pretty much admitted his true feelings for the girl to her. The girl is obviously infatuated with him as well. This is bound to be trouble.

She checks her watch, pivoting on her heel to head to the makeshift kitchen. It is almost eight.

 

* * *

 

From his position on the roof, the man peers through his binoculars as Aizen's 1950 Bentley Continental pulls up to the museum gates. He spots Starrk's dark features in the drivers' seat, and Lilynette's smirk beside him, but in the backseat is the man himself, Sosuke Aizen.

' _He must really want the girl, if he is exposing himself like this in such a public setting_ ,' the man muses, his grip tightening on the binoculars as he munches on his protein bar. ' _And his ego knows no bounds. This means Aizen is not afraid of his enemies any longer, if he is merely traveling with the two Primera. On the other hand, the pair are Primera for a reason.'_

The white classic car makes it's way down the driveway, pulling into the covered entrance. Then he hears it, the  _whup-whup-whup_  of a helicopter. Whipping his head around, the man spots it descending to the earth. On the lawn of the museum, no less. "What the heck-" he mutters aloud, feeling the stirring in the air as the rotor blades slow down. ' _So Mr. A- Aizen,'_  he corrects himself sternly. ' _That man is not even worth the Mr. But he may either be trying to make a quick getaway, or he is trying to impress someone.'_

The man crouches down to avoid detection, focusing on the doors of the helicopter. The distinctive shock of blue hair announces Grimmjow's presence as he hops out of the carriage, followed by Nnoitra and his assistant Tesla.

The man grins savagely, feeling the throb of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"It's like Christmas morning," he sighs happily, sitting back down on the roof to recheck his guns. And they think he's dead. Wouldn't it be funny to see their faces when he shows up again? ' _I can be the ghost of Christmas Past,_ ' he chuckles. Especially that bastard Grimmjow, who ground his loafer-clad heel into his fingers as he hung from the bridge, sending him into the river in the dead of winter. His smile fades. Grimmjow will be the first to die.

It is time for him to make his move, but since he has no way of knowing when they are coming out, the man decides to come into the gates of the museum compound. He grabs a white hairclip, pinning it into his hair, checking out his reflection in a hand-held mirror with a smile. He studies his androgynous features, thinking back on his previous career as an elite assassin.

As a child, he hated being mistaken for a girl, but even now he has to admit it has been extremely useful for him to be virtually undetectable. Nobody ever suspected a teenage girl during his previous kills. He checks his outfit one last time, making sure his guns are hidden under his black hoodie. This is a suicide mission, he knows this, but he wants to take as many of them to hell as he can. Casting one last look at his rooftop equipment, he heads downstairs.

Finally, he is on the street. He ambles casually towards the gates, when a van door opens, and a man with hair the colour of carrots comes out, taking a cellphone call. A quick view of the inside of the van reveals all sorts of surveillance equipment, and a second man is seated inside.

He pauses, anxiety clawing its way up his esophagus. The police is here.

He pulls out a packet of cigarettes, pretending to be on a cigarette break as he eavesdrops shamelessly on the orange-headed man; it seems to be an argument with someone about due process and probable cause. After a few hissed statements about Aizen's arrival and a helicopter landing, the policeman hangs up, glancing at him briefly, and heads back inside the vehicle. The sniper stubs out his half-consumed cigarette with the tip of his sneaker, lavender eyes narrowing.

They cannot be allowed to interfere with his work tonight. Let them clean the mess up afterwards; he will not be here to care. The former assassin tiptoes to the van, pulling out his Swiss army knife. Selecting the thick metal file, he inserts it into the back door lock, twisting it until he feels it click into place. Then he breaks the file off, leaving it inside the keyhole. This should delay them sufficiently enough should they decide to interfere.

Whistling, he walks away again, clearing the museum fence easily once he is out of sight again. He sprints to the bushes in front of the gate, using them as cover until he reaches the front entrance, carefully skirting the cameras. He ducks in the foliage between the helicopter and the entrance, readying his guns.

Tesla, Nnoitra's assistant, waits outside the doors, his eyes on his smartphone. He doesn't notice the assassin hiding mere meters from his post. The man decides to wait, patiently. The right moment will come, and he has waited long enough.

 

* * *

 

The girl is laughing, as Tier keeps her glass full of the golden bubbly liquid. They have just finished the appetizers, a lovely blue crab roll with salad on the side. Ulquiorra watches her face in the flickering candlelight, as she tells him about the first time she had crab, on her brother's first paycheck celebration dinner.

_'She is lovely,'_  he thinks. ' _And this is the last time I'll ever see her like this._ ' He does not touch his drink. Her laughter is enough for him.

"Woman," Ulquiorra says, when she finally stops for a breath. "May I ask you something?"

Her eyes sparkle, as she kicks him under the table. He blinks, unable to believe that she just assaulted his leg. "Did you just-"

Orihime smiles innocently at him. "I told you, if you called me woman again I would kick you. I have a name! Use it, Ulquiorra. It's only fair. You made me call you Ulquiorra instead of Mr. Cifer," she complains, her finger circling the rim of the champagne flute idly. He finds himself mesmerized by the motion.

She must truly be inebriated, to attack him. Nobody has ever touched him like that and remained unharmed. Ulquiorra sighs inwardly, admitting to himself that he probably would not retaliate.

"What is your question?" she asks, her cheeks pink from the champagne.

"You said your brother was a journalist," Ulquiorra says tonelessly. This is it. After he gets this information, the end of his assignment will be in sight. "Orihime, did he leave you anything? Like notes or papers, documents of any sort?"

At the mention of her brother, Orihime quiets down for a moment. Then she glances at the poem on the far wall, and meets his eyes. "Yes. All his research for that last case, I threw them all in a few boxes and put them into storage. I'm not ready to look through them yet; but one day I will." The grief in her eyes calls out to him; he reaches to touch her fingers across the table.

A movement on the door has him on alert, causing Ulquiorra to rise to his feet. Mr. Aizen walks in, running his hand through his hair almost sheepishly. "Hello, Ulquiorra, Miss Inoue. Sorry to interrupt dinner, I was running a little late, " he announces cheerfully, sweeping in to grip her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles.

Ulquiorra realizes, with a sinking feeling, that this was Mr. Aizen's plan all along, and that he was a stand-in, to warm her up and make her amenable to the gang leader's advances. He should have realized this earlier; that the girl had been dolled and dressed up on Mr. Aizen's orders, meant that he planned to take her tonight. He sets his jaw, fighting against his roiling emotions. And Tier, plying her with champagne all night, she was in on this whole farce.

"Yes, Ulquiorra, by the way," Mr. Aizen purrs as he takes Ulquiorra's recently vacated seat. Tier changes out the place setting smoothly, not meeting Ulquiorra's gaze. The boss holds up a set of car keys. "Here are the keys to the Bentley, please take the car to my home and wait for me there." Ulquiorra knows he is being dismissed. He bows stiffly, accepting the keys.

"Wait, is Ulquiorra going somewhere?" Orihime cries, her eyes distressed.

"Yes, but don't worry, my dear girl, you will see him in the morning." The older man tells her, his eyes full of malicious glee. Ulquiorra feels a surge of nausea rise as he finally understands what Mr. Aizen's game is.

It is difficult to resist the urge to snatch Orihime away as the crime boss leers at her while he slouches in his chair, his possessive eyes roaming over her cleavage; they linger over her graceful neck and her alcohol-flushed cheeks. Her eyes meet his viridian gaze, curious and hazy. "Really? But-"

"Shh." The older man puts his forefinger on her lips to silence her. "Don't worry, you and I are going to have a lot of fun tonight." He turns his head to gaze at Ulquiorra. "Be a good boy, now, and take the car home."

Ulquiorra nods, feeling his gut twist as he walks out the door. He passes Tier on his way out; she shoots him a sympathetic glance which he ignores. Behind him, he can hear the girl laugh politely.

The Primeras look up as he walks past them in the first corridor. They exchange nods with Ulquiorra, and go back to their discussion. Nnoitra is waiting by the elevator, spite oozing from him as he studies Ulquiorra with his one eye.

"I see they switched on the elevators for Mr. Aizen." Ulquiorra states tonelessly, although he does not know why he is even bothering to make small talk with the Quinto. Professional courtesy, he supposes, trying to distract himself from the resentment boiling in him.

Nnoitra raises an eyebrow, sneering, "I see Mr. Aizen is sending his dog home." Ulquiorra has him on the floor and gasping for breath before he can continue his thought. The elevator doors open, and Ulquiorra steps inside, poker-faced. "Fuck you," the man hisses, grabbing at his throat as he tries to recover from the unexpected blow.

"Not interested," Ulquiorra replies coolly, stabbing the button to close the doors.

Grimmjow is standing at the lobby entrance, eyeing him nervously. "So, didja get the information we needed?" the Sexta asks him almost timidly, chewing on a breath mint. He can hear the crunch of the mint under the sharp teeth of the blue-haired man.

"Yes." Ulquiorra casts an unreadable glance at him.

"And... the bunny, she's with the boss?" Grimmjow asks, his face resigned.

Replying the obvious would only be futile; one hand balls into a fist. Ulquiorra shoves it into his pocket suddenly, grabbing the keys to the car. "I'm taking the car back. His orders."

"This isn't right," Grimmjow mutters under his breath, turning away from him to face the stairs. "She's too ... nice. He'll only use her up and ..."

"Have a care, Sexta." Ulquiorra's voice is low and harsh; he wonders why he is even saying this. "He is our superior. We are merely doing his bidding. Remember who we are, and what we do. There is no room for her kind of softness."

"I know," Grimmjow responds wistfully, still facing the other way. "She was - fun. It's just such a waste."

' _Then why the hell did you get her cleaned and prettied up, delivering her to him on a silver platter? You should have tied a fucking bow on her too,_ ' Ulquiorra thinks furiously. Then he takes a calming breath, knowing his thoughts are not accurate. ' _No,_ ' he amends. ' _The blame for her fall is on my head. All of it on my head.'_

"I'm heading back," Ulquiorra says simply, walking out the door.

"She loves you, you know," Grimmjow chuckles mirthlessly. "But hell, what do we know about stuff like that?" He does not see Ulquiorra falter in his step, his green eyes grief-stricken. Ulquiorra continues out, going on autopilot as he circles the car, sliding into the drivers' seat.

 

* * *

 

"Cifer is leaving," Ichigo notes, a frown between his eyebrows as he shovels instant ramen noodles into his mouth. "That's not a good sign."

"Gorgeous car though," Ishida points out absently. "But why would he leave Aizen alone with the subject? And that blow he landed on Gilga was textbook perfect. Was Cifer the bait to lure the girl to this meeting?" Both policemen turn to the front windshield, watching the Bentley exit the gates. Then they turn back to the screens, zooming back in to the dinner table on the balcony.

"I don't know. I wonder what information Jaegerjaques was referring to…," Ichigo mutters, his eyes glued to Orihime's now subdued face. "She looks pretty uncomfortable." They both watch as Aizen runs a finger down her cheek.

"That's it, I'm coming in," Ichigo snarls, dropping his chopsticks as he rises to his feet. "He's molesting her."

"Calm down, idiot. She isn't fighting it," Ishida grabs his shoulder, forcing him into his chair. "And stop rocking the van, people are going to get suspicious. Besides, Rule 4711 of the Tokyo Police Handbook states that when conducting surveillance, the police officer in question must remain discreet and undetected unless a.), he or she is in direct danger, or b.) the subject's life is in danger."

"But she's crying!" Ichigo points out, stabbing a finger at the screen.

"It seems to me like he's wiping her tears away." Ishida pushes his glasses up his nose. "Albeit in a creepy uncle kind of way. But it isn't illegal. Hmm. Harribel keeps refilling her drink though. Are they trying to get her drunk?"

"What if he's planning to rape her?" Ichigo realizes in shock. "I'm not going to let that happen."

Ishida sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose. "If he does try to sexually assault her, we'll be able to apprehend him. It'll be extra time if we can prove he premeditated it. But you have to calm down, Kurosaki. You are not objective about at all, and I am tempted to request Chief to get you dismissed from this case if you continue in this vein. It is bad enough that you are dating the District Attorney. That in itself could throw any evidence into jeopardy," his voice rises, betraying his annoyance.

"If we go barging in prematurely, we lose everything down the drain. This is a public area, we don't need a warrant. But whatever we do, the evidence has to be unimpeachable. You are aware of this. He has lawyers who will try to break the evidence. So stand down. We will wait." Ishida finishes, glaring fiercely at Ichigo through his glasses. "And eat your ramen."

The orange-headed man knows that his partner is correct. Angrily, he sinks into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest.

* * *

*taken from allpoetry.com , translated by Kenneth Rexroth


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Surprise! Early Chap 8 post since Lilarin and I didn't like leaving cliffhangers. I would appreciate hearing what you think about this chapter. :) Also big thanks to Sunny, who is off to party in Winnipeg, for keeping me inspired with hot men.

**VIII**

 

 

Tokyo flies past Ulquiorra in his borrowed Bentley, and he doesn't care that he is going over the speed limit.

What does he know about love, anyway? Why should he care about this silly girl who foolishly attached herself to him? Why does every fiber of his being scream at him to protect her from Mr. Aizen? Frustrated, he pushes the car into fifth gear, roaring down the highway to drown out the chaos of his thoughts.

He drives aimlessly for miles, trying to put distance between himself and the scene he left behind. Finally, Ulquiorra finds himself at the gate of the cemetery, where his brother and hers are buried. He eases the car into a parking spot, and heads over to his brother's mausoleum, unlocking the wrought-iron doors slowly.

He lights the candle there. He isn't afraid of ghosts in the cemetery, because the demons in his head are louder and more terrifying. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the box of Batman Pocky, laying it on the grave.

"Hey, Batman," Ulquiorra greets, glancing up at the stars. "It's me." He smirks slightly at the childhood moniker. "I miss you, and your funny nickname. But of all things, why did you have to pick Batman? I guess it's only fair. You were the one who was not given a name," he continues," as if you had no right to exist because of your deformity. But I was- am your twin brother. I still cannot understand how he could do this to his own flesh and blood.

"I ran into Father again, a few weeks ago, in an elevator of all places. He looks older now; withered and helpless." He remembers how Mr. Aizen had adjusted his father's tie, and how terror had flooded the old man's eyes for a brief moment. "I am close to our revenge, brother. And Mr. Aizen is the man who is helping me do it."

Ulquiorra lowers his head, studying the name on the marble. "But ... there is a woman. She makes me doubt if what we are doing is right. It used to be so clear to me; revenge for you was like a compass pointing north, and I could see no other direction. And she is confusing my head, making me ... feel things. I should not leave Mr. Aizen at this critical point in our plan. But he is going to destroy her. If I don't let him take her, then she will destroy me." His voice drops to a whisper. "She may destroy me anyway."

The expression on her face as she read the poem to him earlier tonight comes back to him, and he feels his chest tighten. "I have to go," he tells his brother, touching the marble gently. "Sleep well, Batman."

As Ulquiorra gets into the drivers' seat, he notices Mr. Aizen's work briefcase in the backseat. It is not closed properly. Frowning, he reaches for it, pushing it open, and finds the girl's sketchpad, tossed in haphazardly. He pulls it out, wanting to see her rendition of him as a demon with bat-wings again.

It is a compelling image, and something inside him echoes the dark anguish on the creature's face. And he remembers his own brother's distorted limbs. He finds it interesting that the woman drew something that resembles his twin's deformities, with his face on that body, and finds himself wondering about her motivations.

Curiously, he flips the page. His eyes widen. He flips to the next page, and the next, lost in thought as he sees images of himself through her eyes. Then, he slams it shut, his heart pounding and his head full of confusion.

Ulquiorra feels like his chest is going to burst. His eyes slide over to the sketchpad beside him.

His mind clears and a strange calm settles him. Suddenly, he knows what to do. He has to give her back the sketchbook, he is certain of that. Right now, in fact.

Ulquiorra starts the car, driving out of the cemetery with a resolute look on his face.

 

* * *

 

 

Orihime feels the world start to tip and sway

"Oh dear," Mr. Aizen murmurs, crossing around the table to stand at her side. "Are you quite alright, Miss Inoue?"

"My head is spinning," she whispers, closing her eyes experimentally. The whirling speeds up when she does that, so she pops her eyes open again. "Call me Orihime, please." It's hilarious that none of them can call her by her name. Now she has more names! Bunny, Hime-chan, Miss Inoue, woman ... she tries not to laugh because her head is so heavy.

"Did you like the dessert, Orihime?" Mr. Aizen murmurs in her ear. She struggles to open one eye, and finds him seated next to her now. It is perfectly natural for her to give in to gravity and lean her head on Mr. Aizen's shoulder. His whole body stills under her cheek. She can hear his harsh breathing.

"Yes, I like chocolate cake. How did you know I like chocolate cake?" Orihime tries to smile but her face is too heavy.

He smiles at her indulgently. "Orihime, you are adorable," Mr. Aizen croons, cupping her cheeks in his hands. His hands are cold against her flushed skin. Did he just sniff her hair? She is not sure.

Wrong. He should not be touching her like this. Not him.

No, this is wrong. He tilts her face up to his. She cannot open her eyes more than a sliver, but he leans forward, and for a moment she feels him brush his lips against hers.

"No!" she squeaks, lurching backwards, almost tipping the chair over. Mr. Aizen grabs her wrist, keeping her from falling. "Why did- Why did you do that, Mr. Aizen?" Orihime feels like crying now. She misses Ulquiorra and doesn't understand what Mr. Aizen is doing to her.

"Dear Orihime, I was only trying to make you feel better. You look so sad," he tells her, brushing away the bangs from her forehead. "Little girls like you should not have to be sad at all. Did you like my presents? Your dress is so pretty; you are so cute tonight."

A wave of guilt swamps Orihime. Of course he is only trying to be nice. He has done so many nice things for her already. She should not be ungrateful. "And if you want to, I can make it all better," he says, running a finger down her nose.

Her forehead creases. "I'm so dizzy." She thinks she sees a flash of annoyance on his face, but it is gone instantly.

"Would you like to lie down? I have extra rooms at my house, I can take you there." He pats the back of her hand soothingly. She can only stare at it, as her senses are completely dulled. Then, there is a flash of blue.

"Grimmy." Orihime sighs, staggering slightly. "Hi! I was just talking to Mr. Aizen. Right here! Mr. Aizen, you are so nice. So nice. Grimmy told me about the old man and you had someone take care of him before he died. You really are so nice. Thank you!" She lurches towards him, trying to hug him, but a pair of hands on her shoulders stops her.

"Oi, Grimmy," she complains, her cheeks twitching from her smile. "Mr. Aizen is so nice. But Ulquiorra went away." She misses the telling glance that Mr. Aizen sends to Grimmjow, and rises unsteadily to her feet. "Is there an earthquake? Why is the floor moving?" She lurches forward. Thankfully, Grimmjow catches her.

"Orihime, you've had too much to drink," Mr. Aizen says, getting up as well. "Please, stay at my house until you feel better. Grimmjow can carry you over. We can take my helicopter."

"Nononono, I don't drink. I don't," Orihime insists, peeling her face from Grimmjow's armpit. "So how can I be drunk?"

Wordlessly Grimmjow picks her up, bridal-style."But, but, where is Ulquiorra? Will I see him again if I go to your house?"

Mr. Aizen smiles. "Of course."

'''Kay then," she hiccups. "Grimmy, you have to put me down. I'm too heavy. I can walk." At her insistence, the three of them make their way through the building slowly. A dark-haired man with one eye joins them, bowing to Mr. Aizen deeply.

"Orihime, this is Nnoitra," Mr. Aizen introduces them. The lanky man eyes her, and bows stiffly.

"Oh! Are you a pirate?" she asks, giggling. He doesn't answer.

Grimm holds her up when her knees give out, thanks to the elevator descending. Tier and two other people join them in the lobby as well. Introductions are made, but Orihime has trouble remembering their names. "Starrk," the tall man tells her with a grin. "But you can call me Coyote, and this is Lilynette." He gestures to a girl with light green hair, wearing a crop-top under her long coat, who does not look impressed.

"So pretty," Orihime says to her. "Are you also friends of Mr. Aizen's?" The girl rolls her eyes, ignoring her.

"Lilynette, Orihime asked you a question," Mr. Aizen says in a mild tone.

Lilynette pales and nods in reply. "Y-yes," she mumbles, lowering her eyes.

The group finally makes it to the front entryway, with Mr. Aizen in the back flanked by Coyote and Lilynette. Nnoitra's assistant bows deeply, meeting them at the bottom of the stairs.

Suddenly, there is a loud pop and Grimmjow falls to the ground, cursing. Orihime loses her balance, landing on her knees. She doesn't understand what is going on, why Grimmjow is covered in blood. Disoriented, she looks around.

 

* * *

 

 

"Hello, everyone." The man reveals himself finally, enjoying the shock in Aizen's eyes.

"Luppi Antenor," the boss breathes out. Tier Harribel jumps between them hastily, herding him back behind Starrk and Lilynette to form a protective wall around him.

"Miss me?" Luppi chuckles, enjoying the curses of Grimmjow. "And bastard, don't ever think you replaced me. Thought you killed me? You're going to have to fucking try harder."

Nnoitra rushes him with a hastily drawn gun, and Luppi shoots him between the eyes. "That's for killing my father, asshole. Have fun in hell," Luppi snarls.

Nnoitra is dead before he hits the ground, a trail of blood dripping from the hole in his head. His assistant, Tesla, loses his composure, throwing himself over the body with a wail.

Harribel takes that opportunity to fire at Luppi, but she misses, catching the side of his hoodie. Luppi smiles, diving behind a pillar to reload. "Starrk, Lily, take Mr. Aizen to the helicopter, and get him out of here." The two behind her nod, covering their boss as the three of them make a run for it. Harribel dives for cover as well, hiding behind a statue.

"No, you can't leave!" Luppi howls, firing at the retreating trio from where he is hidden. "Aizen must die!"

They make it successfully around him, skirting the perimeter. The pilot starts up the rotors. He fires indiscriminately at the helicopter, bullets flying everywhere. Even then, Mr. Aizen manages to get into the helicopter, diving in from the other side. Starrk throws Lilynette in, and jumps in behind her.

The helicopter lifts off into the night sky, disappearing. Luppi curses as his clip empties, throwing out his useless gun and pulling out another from his sock. Cautiously, he peeks out. Since Aizen has escaped, he cannot die tonight. Hastily formulating a change of plans, he reloads his gun,

* * *

 

Orihime notices Grimmjow's blood on her hands, her eyes wide. Then she looks up at the man peering from behind the pillar, her heart in her throat. "You! I've seen you in the coffeeshop, always with your brewed coffee."

"Think harder. Do you remember me yet?" he taunts her. Her eyes widen. She does not answer, lost in memory.

_She is coming home from school, exhausted, after a birthday that is largely ignored by her classmates. The front door is open. There is a smell in the air; sweet and metallic, wafting out the door. Did Sora come home early today?_

_A girl is leaving her apartment, a white ribbon in her hair. She meets Orihime's glance, then smiles, pushing past her. Orihime takes a step back, confused. 'Why is she coming out of my house?' she wonders, turning to watch the girl, dressed in white, walk away. But her hands are stained red... and she had lavender eyes._

_Orihime opens the door, seeing the red puddle on the floor. Her horrified eyes follow the trail of red smears to the leg sticking out from behind the sofa. Her legs feel like lead. She takes a step. Then another. Then she sees her brother's broken body on the ground._

_All she can do is scream, wishing there was a way she could reject this reality._

"You," Orihime whispers again, with unseeing eyes as the memories come rushing back. "You killed my brother."

* * *

"Damn it." Ichigo snarls, trying to kick the door open. "Someone messed up the lock."

Ishida watches the gunfire on the monitors, gazing worriedly at his partner. "Hurry. There are two men down, maybe more soon."

"I fucking know that, okay?" Ichigo shoves the doors one last time before they burst open. Ishida joins him, donning on a bulletproof vest with the word POLICE emblazoned on the back. They sprint towards the gates as fast as they can. Just as they reach it, the black Bentley rounds the corner, crashing into the wooden barrier leading to the driveway, and blocking all entry, foot or auto.

"What the hell- " Ichigo growls, ready to jump over the car. Ishida is more circumspect, pulling his partner back as Ulquiorra emerges from the car, gun at the ready. Bullets fly inside the gate, and they are outgunned and unprepared.

"Come on, Kurosaki. Let's wait for backup to get here," Ishida sighs, dragging a furiously struggling Ichigo back into the police van. "There is no way we can get in there, and it is safer for us to stay out of it. Aizen is long gone, there is no need for us to run in and get ourselves shot." Ichigo scuffles with him briefly, trying to head into the fray.

Losing his temper, Ishida grabs his handcuffs, locking Ichigo's wrist to the handle above the window. "Stay there and don't make me tape your mouth."

Curses greet his pronouncement. Sighing, Ishida pulls out the roll of duct tape.

 

* * *

 

Luppi peers out carefully, spotting Harribel hissing into a cellphone. He takes advantage of her distraction, crawling over to where Grimmjow is gripping his injured arm, blood seeping through his fingers. Orihime is lost in her own world, kneeling next to him.

"Hey, mongrel," Luppi giggles. "Does it hurt?"

"Shut up, fucker. You're supposed to be dead," the blue-haired man grinds out at him.

"Well, if you did your job right, I would be," Luppi snickers. "Pushing me off a bridge like that. Tsk, tsk. It's a very basic rule. Even elementary school kids can tell you that. Always make sure you see the body of your target. You didn't even bother to check if I was dead." He taps the barrel of his gun against Grimm's head. "Lazy."

Grimmjow tenses and closes his eyes, but Luppi has other plans. "Oh, no, I won't kill you yet. I saw how you and Cuatro fawned over this girl." He runs his gun up Orihime's cheek, but she does not respond. "Oh, I think I broke her." He giggles like a psychopath as he pushes her chin up with the barrel.

She stares at him with her blank grey eyes. Grimmjow struggles into a sitting position. "What the hell are you going to do, Antenor?" he growls.

"I wish Ulquiorra could see me blow her brains out. I never did like that prick," Luppi sighs, checking for Harribel. "But I'll have to settle for you. I'm kind of on a time crunch since Aizen got away. So, her first, then you."

Luppi aims the gun at Orihime. "Did you know that your brother cried when I shot him? I told him I was your classmate, and he let me in, thinking I was there to celebrate your birthday. Then he begged me not to take him away from you. He cried like a baby. But I killed him anyway." He smiles as Grimmjow rises to a sitting position. "Well, at least I'll be reuniting both of you. You're welcome."

The blue-haired man turns the girl's face away, burying it into his good shoulder. "Misplaced chivalry, Jaegerjaques?" Luppi snorts, rising to his knees. "That's rich, coming from you. Oh, well. Bye-bye, Orihime."

His fingers tighten on the trigger, but he hears the loud report of a gun from nearby. Confused, he glances down at his hand, feeling something drip on his hand. It is blood. He looks up, seeing the girl's dress spattered with even more blood, coming from his direction. Then, he turns to see Ulquiorra's cold green eyes from behind the barrel of a smoking gun.

"Asshole," he gasps out, reaching towards Ulquiorra, before everything goes dark.

 

* * *

 

"Cifer just killed him." Ishida gasps, dumbfounded. Muffled noises have him reaching back and ripping the duct tape off Ichigo's mouth, both of their eyes glued to the monitors.

Beside him, Ichigo stares at the screen, unable to believe his eyes. "Do we know who the shooter is?" He pulls at the handcuffs halfheartedly. Ishida tosses him a key, rewinding the video and zooming in the shooter's face. Cross-referencing it with the Tokyo Police database, he pulls up a file.

"Luppi Antenor, deceased. Died four years ago. Son of Keita Toyama, who was found dead one month ago. Huh. That would explain why Aizen and the others were so surprised. Well, he's really dead now," Ishida muses. "Technically, is it still murder if Cifer killed a dead man in self-defense?"

"What the hell, that's the girl I saw earlier. She was outside when I was on the phone with Rukia. Damn it. I guess it was a he. Cifer executed him at point-blank range." Ichigo growls, tossing the handcuffs on the table. "We have it on video. Let's go arrest him."

"But we don't have Aizen," Ishida points out. "Which was the whole point of the operation. We cannot compromise the mission now."

Ichigo kicks the door in frustration. "So, what, we just leave the dead bodies there and walk away? Why are we policemen, then?"

Ishida grabs his arm. "That's why we're Inspectors, and not rookies. Kurosaki, think about the bigger picture. Backup is on the way, we can wait for them. But remember the mission. We have to get Aizen to make this all count. We can't show our hand yet."

Ichigo sits on the fender of the van, head bowed. "We will take Aizen down, if it's the last thing I do," he vows.

 

* * *

 

After eliminating the former Sexta, Ulquiorra notes that Grimmjow is still keeping Orihime's head turned into his shoulder. It annoys him that she is so docilely allowing it, but Ulquiorra has some business to attend to.

Kicking Luppi's body over, he checks for a pulse. None. "Is he dead?" Grimmjow calls.

Ulquiorra nods, rising to his feet. He walks past the fallen Nnoitra, whose assistant is lying prostrate over his body, sobbing hysterically, towards Tier Harribel, who is barking orders into her phone while dabbing at a cut on her cheek.

"Tier," he says quietly, interrupting her, "thank you for calling to warn me about Luppi." He tries not to think about what would have happened if he had been a minute late, and he does not like the tremor in his knees.

She lowers her phone, her eyes sharp. "No, good job on finishing him off. I could not get a clear shot. I've called Szayel Aporro Granz to take care of Grimmjow. He is on his way. As for Nnoitra...," her voice trails off. "Well, we have a crew coming although one of the neighbours may have called the police."

"Tier, please take care of the clean-up." Ulquiorra says, his gaze resting on the girl. "I need to take her away from here before the police arrive."

"Wait a minute," Tier protests, hands on hips, but the Cuatro has turned away, striding back towards Grimmjow. The sirens are audible in the distance.

Ulquiorra goes down on one knee, carefully helping Orihime to her feet. Casting a quick glance at Grimmjow, he asks, "Will you be alright? Szayel Aporro is coming, and there will be police and a clean up crew here soon. I must get her out."

Grimmjow flashes him a weak smirk, blood gushing around the hand he has clamped on his injured arm. "I'll be fine, Ulquiorra, but... I'm glad you came back. By the way, she was already drunk before we ran into Luppi. He made her relive her brother's death, so... just be careful, okay? Take care of our Hime."

The Sexta is lucky he is injured, and that Ulquiorra owes him for protecting her, or else he would be eating Ulquiorra's fist for presuming to claim her. He does not bother to reply, swinging her up carefully in his arms, her purse dangling from his arm.

Orihime is too still, her eyes blank and glassy. She hangs in his arms limply, as if she was not inhabiting her body at the moment. This concerns Ulquiorra, but his main priority now is to get her out of here. He slides her into the passenger seat of the Bentley, and she lets him arrange her like a doll, her face looking out the window. Carefully, he snaps her seatbelt on, giving her hands a slight squeeze before arranging them in her lap.

His home would probably be the safest place for her tonight, Ulquiorra decides, closing her door before rounding the car. Backing out of the ruined gate, he eases the Bentley into the now deserted streets of Tokyo. He scans the road quickly, noting that there is no foot traffic, and only a parked van on the corner. The Bentley turns the corner just as the sirens arrive on the street, and he drives past an Arrancar cleanup crew en route to the museum.

He glances at her, as she stares, unblinking, out the window. Probably shock and trauma, he guesses, but Ulquiorra suspects she should not be alone when she emerges from the protective cocoon that her mind has wrapped her in. Ulquiorra comes to terms with the fact that this woman has gotten under his skin in some way.

A large part of him is fiercely happy that she is alive. Perhaps the time to face the truth about how he feels for her is coming soon. But for now, he needs to protect her.

...

* * *

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Bleach is not my property. Neither is Bentley. I make no money from this. Cheers!

**IX.**

They arrive at his house in the hills just outside of town. As Ulquiorra waits for the gates to open, he realizes this is the first time he has brought anyone home to his personal space. He glances over at his passenger; she seems to be awake and unresponsive. Pulling into the parking space, he checks his phone briefly.  

Three missed calls from Tier and four from Mr. Aizen. Ulquiorra fires off a text to both of them, and includes Grimmjow: _I am unavailable until tomorrow. Will keep you posted for updates on the situation._

Almost immediately, his phone lights up, buzzing with a call from Tier. He glances at it and  shuts it off, tossing it into his coat pocket. Then Ulquiorra alights from the vehicle, crossing over to the passenger side to retrieve Orihime.  

Crouching down, he unbuckles her seatbelt. “Orihime,” Ulquiorra murmurs, taking one of her icy hands into his. “I have taken you to my house. It will be safer for you to stay here for now.” She does not reply, but lets him pull her out of the car. He takes Mr. Aizen’s bag, and the sketch book, tucking it under one arm, supporting her with his other arm around her waist in case she falls. Obediently, she follows him.  

The front door is password-locked, and he makes quick work of it, guiding her inside. The lights are motion-sensitive, and they bathe the main living room area with a soft white light. Ulquiorra sets down the items he is carrying and guides Orihime to the big white sofa.  

“May I offer you anything to drink?” he asks quietly as he wraps a thick blanket around her. She remains mute. Ulquiorra takes a moment to study her, inspecting her for any outward signs of injury. Her knees peek out from under the blanket, covered in bruises, and the skin of her knuckles are scraped; probably from her fall to the ground. Her dress is covered with blood, both Grimmjow’s and Luppi’s, with dried droplets marking her hair, face and neck.  

 A bath is in order, Ulquiorra decides as he heads to the kitchen to make her some chamomile tea. After bringing the water to a boil,  he fills up a mug with the fragrant tea. After placing the cup down on the table in front of her,  Ulquiorra heads out to get the water running in his bathtub.  

One of the reasons Ulquiorra purchased this house is because of the massive bathtub in the master’s bedroom, full of jets and big enough for three people. He likes his space, and in this tub, he can look out the window into the forest beyond, with the water deep enough to cover him until his chin.  The sound of the water is soothing as he runs her bath, but his thoughts float back to the woman in his living room.  

While waiting for the water to fill, Ulquiorra changes his clothing into more comfortable pair of pants, digging into his closet for something suitable for Orihime.  His only t-shirt is folded neatly on a shelf; he retrieves it, deciding to remain shirtless for the time being. Ulquiorra usually forgoes clothing when he sleeps, but tonight... he shakes his head, trying not to imagine the girl wearing only his shirt, tangled up in his sheets, her hair streaming across his pillows.    

He grips the shirt tightly in his hand, ignoring the stirring of his libido. She is here so that he can keep her safe. He resigns himself to a night on his couch.   

 

Orihime gradually becomes aware of her surroundings, stark as they are. She reaches for the cup of tea in front of her, longing for something normal to keep her from falling apart. The walls and furnishings are white, and even the warm porcelain in her hands shares the snowy hue. Automatically, she brings it to her lips, and tastes the flowery tea.    

Then the tears come. She is surprised by the hot droplets splashing her skin.  "Why am I crying?" Orihime wonders aloud, feeling a quaking that starts in her core. Fighting to keep the sobs inside, she is terrified that once she breaks, the tears will never stop until there is nothing left.    

Her mind whirls around tonight's events; the death of two men, the shooting of Grimmjow, the revelation of her brother's killer. Suddenly, Orihime cannot breathe. She puts the cup down with a clatter.  Her heart is pounding as the rate of her breathing increases; each breath becomes harder and harder because it feels like rubber bands are constricting her chest, strangling her slowly. Black spots dance before her eyes, and she wonders if this is how she dies.    

She feels warm hands loosening the tight top of her dress, kneading her tense shoulders. "Slowly, Orihime. Breathe. In and out."  She can barely make him out from the tears in her eyes, but the calm authority of his voice helps her pace herself.  He rubs her back, waiting until she is not in danger of passing out.  

"You are having a panic attack. It will subside if you regulate your breathing," Ulquiorra tells her, slipping into the seat beside her to loosen the tightness in her neck and shoulders.  

A few minutes pass before she can look at him, but her body relaxes under his touch.  "Th-thank y-y-" Her teeth are chattering so much that she cannot even speak properly. He bundles her again in the blanket.   

"Are you feeling better?" Ulquiorra asks, rising to his feet to take her tea to the kitchen.  

Desperately, she reaches for his hand, gripping it with tight fingers. "P-please d-don't leave m-me," Orihime begs, tears dripping down her cheeks, tracking through the bloodstains. "P-please."  

His green eyes roam across her terrified face for a moment, and he nods, sitting back down. He must feel the tremors shaking her, so he slides an arm around her shoulders. Orihime tries to control the shudders in vain. Finally, Ulquiorra scoops her knees up, pulling her into his lap, blanket and all. He wraps his arms around her. Immediately, she curls her entire body into him, burying her face in his neck.

One of his hands rubs her back soothingly in up-and-down motions. Eventually, her breathing slows down. Orihime is reluctant to let go now, because she feels so safe and warm in his arms. His skin is cool against her overheated cheeks, and the feeling of being held like this is something she has not felt in a long time.  

"I have drawn a bath for you," Ulquiorra murmurs against her ear. "But the water may get cold soon. Do you wish to bathe?"  

Reluctantly, she nods, throwing the blanket down on the sofa; she realizes for the first time that Ulquiorra is not wearing a shirt. She encounters with some surprise the tattoo on his chest of a stylized number four. He does not even pause as he swings her into his arms, carrying her up the stairs into the master bedroom.  

"I- I can walk," Orihime protests feebly.   

"This is more efficient, woman. Do not worry about it." Once they are in the bedroom, he enters yet another door leading into the bathroom. It is huge, and a giant window offsets the tub, showing an incredible view of the hillside, the forest, and in the distance, the lights of Tokyo.  He sets her on her feet, padding to the table. "Here is your towel, and I apologize but I do not have any suitable sleepwear for you. However...," his voice trails off as he catches sight of her stricken face. "What is it?"

Her face is ashen. She sees her reflection in the mirror, her dress stained with blood. "No!" Orihime sobs, trying to wrench the dress off her body. "I need to get it off."  She rips a sleeve, not caring about the damage to her own skin, sobbing hysterically. "So much blood, get it off." Her mind relives that day seven years ago when she was covered in his blood.

"Oh God, he can't be dead, no, put the blood back, I don’t believe it." She pulls at the collar, sending buttons skittering across the floor as she sinks to her knees. Her hands scrape against the stitches, shredding the muslin until she manages to get the entire dress off her body. "I cannot do this without you, Sora," Orihime whimpers, her eyes unseeing and glassy. "Please don’t bleed, please don't. You can't die, the blood is on my hands."  

She scrubs at her hands, curling up on the floor, her tears leaving red tracks on the white tile. "There is so much blood. This is not real," Orihime sobs, pulling at her hair. "Please, please don't be real."

Ulquiorra tries to restrain her from harming herself, but she screams, a heartrending sound that splits the night, backing away into the corner between the shower and the tub like a frightened child. "No, don't touch me, don't, the blood won't go away! Please no!"  She screams again, holding her head. "No, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop, I won't do it again, I'm sorry, I won't. I'll be a good girl. I promise. I promise." Her sobs are haunting and terrible to witness. "Don't take my brother away."

 

Helplessness is not a feeling Ulquiorra has felt often, and for good reason.  He only feels helpless when he allows himself to care for other people; his mother, his brother, and now this woman.   

Her eyes are glazed; she is fighting demons he cannot see. "Orihime," he calls her name, grabbing her wrists carefully. She tries to claw him defensively, backing away as she covers her head. He has seen her do this before, when Grimmjow attacked her at the museum; she is no stranger to violence, after all.  

Ulquiorra is not sure what to do now. She may hurt herself if allowed to go unchecked. He has heard people cry like this before; deep anguished sobs, that rise from what seems like their souls, telling of a burden they have carried for a long time. "Orihime," he tries again, inching closer. "I will now approach you. Do not fight me, woman."  

Raising his hands, he approaches her as if she were a feral animal. She eyes him warily.  "I'll help you wash the blood off, okay?" He reaches for a small fist, clasped tight over her knees, stroking it with his fingertips. "Orihime, it is I. Do not be afraid."  

Slowly, her fingers unclench, and allow him access. He slides his fingers through hers, making his way closer. Distractions, he thinks, would be useful. Maybe if he keeps talking, she'll lower her guard. "I will not hurt you," Ulquiorra promises, keeping his gaze steady on hers. He reaches for her other hand.  

Finally, he is kneeling in front of her curled-up figure, his knees right between her ankles. Reaching forward, he slowly slides his hands towards her face. She flinches when he touches her jaw, but does not move. "It's alright," he tells her, "I will not allow any harm to come to you. Let me help you wash the blood off." His touch seems to calm her; the violence of her tears eases somewhat, and she is now weeping incoherently.  

Sliding his fingers up her upper arms deliberately, he leans closer, easing forward until he is wrapped around her.  He combs his fingers through the rumpled silk of her hair, now wet with her perspiration, and holds her for what feels like hours until the sobs subside.  

"Orihime? Are you ready to wash off the blood?" he asks eventually against her ear. She nods, hiccupping, the tears still steadily dripping.  With one hand, he reaches into the water, testing the temperature. It will not do to have her catch a cold, and the water is now tepid. He turns on the tap for the hot water, then helps her to her feet. He eases her clips off, setting them on the dresser to keep them safe because he knows how much they mean to her.

It is then that Ulquiorra catches his first look at the lingerie that she is wearing, and it is a shock to his senses. Black lace cradles her skin almost lovingly, contrasting against the pale rose of her skin. The cut emphasizes the pert fullness of her breasts, teasingly hinting at the hard nubs of her nipples without revealing them. Then there are the panties. They cause his mouth to go dry.

The Cuatro closes his eyes briefly, wondering if he did something wrong in a past life to deserve to be tortured like this. Even in this state, she has him mad for her. Then he notices the freshly clawed welts on her arms, inflicted when she dragged off the dress, and all his physical cravings take a backseat to her well-being.

He tests the water again and switches it off. Orihime wraps her arms around herself, sniffling occasionally. Swinging her up into his arms, Ulquiorra steps into the water, gradually sitting down. She hisses in surprise at the heat of the water, then melts into his lap after a few minutes. The water covers their chests, and neither of them say a word.  

After a while, Ulquiorra cups some water in his hand, washing the blood from her hair and cheeks silently. The water takes on a pink tinge. Keeping his touch impersonal, he grabs the soap, stroking it over her shoulders, and neck.

Bathing a woman is definitely not the same as bathing your palsied twin brother, he reflects as he slides his soapy fingers over her knuckles, rubbing between the digits. Her deep, shuddering breaths are not helping his overactive imagination, which has now decided to rear it's ugly head. Not that he needs much of it; he has a wet, soapy, lingerie-clad Orihime Inoue in his arms right now.

He washes the blood and makeup from her face, wiping off the faint remains of her mascara streaks with his thumbs. "I will shampoo your hair next," Ulquiorra says flatly, hoping he does not disgrace himself with the way she is curled up on his lap. Shaking her head, she takes the shampoo from his hands.  

"I can... take it from here." Her low voice is barely audible, even in the silence of the bathroom. "Thank you,  Ulquiorra." Her eyes meet his, almost black in the dim light. The colour is back in her cheeks, but she does not move from his lap. They are still long enough that the motion sensor lights switch off, moonlight streaming in from the window.  

Sighing, Orihime leans back against his chest, her cheek to his tattoo. "But can we sit here just a little bit longer please?"  

His only response is to wrap his arms around her, a move that is rapidly becoming second nature to him.  They sit in silence; even in this room, cut off from the rest of the world, their pasts continue to haunt them. Her eyes are fixed on the crescent moon hanging in the midnight skies.

It makes Ulquiorra angry to think of this woman, warm and wet, being wrapped up in lingerie as a present to Mr. Aizen, and he is fiercely glad for Luppi's intervention.  White hot rage is a new emotion to him as well. He is more used to a cold calculated fury, fed by the need for vengeance. Before he met this woman, the most he ever felt was irritation. _'I was right,'_ he thinks. ' _She has destroyed me. And I have destroyed her._ '

 

The water is cooling when Orihime finishes her bath, rising out of the water.  Ulquiorra left about fifteen minutes earlier, after pressing a kiss on her forehead.   

She steps onto the white bath mat, peeling off the sodden black lace.  Exhaustion makes her sway a bit. After toweling off her auburn hair, she spots the neatly folded shirt Ulquiorra laid out for her. It is a little too long for her, coming down to her knees, and she is self-conscious about her lack of clean underwear.  

A knock has her jumping; her nerves are still on edge.  "Y-yes?"  

"If you give me your wet clothes, I can throw them in the dryer," Ulquiorra calls through the door. The mental image of his long fingers holding the lace panties have her blushing.  

"Th-that's okay, I can do it myself." Orihime squeaks, pulling on the robe hanging behind the door. Now this is definitely too large for her, almost coming down to her toes. She hears him sigh through the wood.  

"Are you decent, woman?" he asks loudly. "I'm coming in."  

He stands in the doorway, shirtless and ridiculously sexy.  Orihime cannot understand why her hormones are going wild, but her eyes dart to his waistband and lower before she gives herself a mental shake.  

"Here, have some milk. Will you be able to sleep?" he asks, handing her a glass. She nods, accepting it without meeting his eyes. While her hands are otherwise occupied, he gathers the shreds of her dress, and the lingerie. She looks away, knowing he is right, and that she should not be so missish about it. The muscles of his back flex as he cleans up the bathroom. Orihime closes her eyes, trying not to react to his masculinity.   

When he heads out the room, her eyes drift to his backside, outlined in the cotton pants he is wearing. _'Stop it_ ,' she scolds herself sternly. ' _Stop ogling Ulquiorra._ ' But the robe she has on smells like him, and her body for some reason is painfully aware of her lack of underwear.   

"Orihime." Ulquiorra's voice interrupts her thoughts again. "Are you alright? You look flushed again. You should rest." He takes the glass from her fingers, herding her into the main bedroom with a hand on her waist.  

Compared to the steamy bathroom, his bedroom is cold and sterile. He leads her to the bed, keeping his eyes averted as she takes off the robe. His bed is a huge white four-poster with blackout drapes hanging from it.  She would never have pegged him as fanciful enough to own such a romantic bed.  Orihime's heart is pounding as she lays her head down on the cool white pillow.  

"Will you need to leave a light on?" he asks gruffly, pulling the covers up to her chin and tucking her into the thick comforter.  She shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut as she expects him to get into bed beside her. He does not.  

"Goodnight, Orihime," his voice floats down to her from the doorway. "I will be on the couch if you need me."   

Orihime bolts into a sitting position, gripping the covers. "Please... Ulquiorra, I don't want to put you out of your own bed," she protests, swallowing hard. "And... I'm afraid to be alone tonight. The bed is big enough for both of us. We can just put pillows between us or something."  

He pauses, one hand on the doorknob. "Are you certain?"  His green eyes are shadowed.  

She nods, insisting, "I would feel terrible if you had to sleep on the couch." With a nod of agreement, Ulquiorra closes the door, heading to the far side of the bed. He throws a pillow between them to serve as a buffer, and slides in, lying flat on his back.  

One would think that with the day she just had, Orihime would pass out right away, but her hyperawareness of this man has her wide awake. She can hear every exhale and shift he makes, and her body is reacting.   

The room has no heating, so in her state of almost undress, she is freezing. She faces away from him, curling up into a little ball, but that does not help. Moving slowly so as not to bother him, she rubs her feet together. It does not work. So she pulls the blanket up over her head to move further downwards on the massive bed, but the sheets are colder down there and she bites back a yelp.

Defeated, she sticks her head back over the covers to find Ulquiorra staring at her. "What is it, Orihime?" She starts violently, and bursts into a sheepish grin.  

"Oh, you scared me," she exhales, placing a hand on her heart.  

"Why are you restless?" he persists, turning on his side to face her.  

"N-no, I'm just a bit cold." Orihime is not prepared for his arm snaking around her waist to pull her against him. He wraps his legs around hers, warming her immediately, while tucking her head under his chin.

"Is this better?" he murmurs above her head, "Or would you prefer to borrow a sweater?"  

Orihime is surprised he cannot see the steam rising from her skin. "No, this is fine," she whispers, burrowing backwards into his warmth. "Thank you, Ulquiorra, for saving me and taking care of me today."

Ulquiorra exhales. "Quit wiggling, woman, and go to sleep." Somehow, her brain finally decides to listen to him, and Orihime drifts off, safe and snug in his arms.

 

* * *

  

The first waking thought that crosses Orihime's mind the next day is that she has never felt this warm before. Yawning, she stretches, arching her back. Her fingers encounter another person; she freezes, all the memories of the previous day coming back to her.    

Opening one eye, she finds Ulquiorra's face mere inches from her own. Her heart skips a beat; he is asleep, breathing softly, arms still wrapped around her. Sometime during the night, she must have rolled over.  She studies him, glad to have a chance to see him so vulnerable and yet so peaceful. Long dark lashes fan over his cheek, while his full lips pout a little bit. He must be dreaming about something.   

Raising a hand slowly, she pushes his newly cut hair away from his cheek, noting with delight that his strong jaw is dusted by a light layer of stubble.  It makes him seem less boyish, and more manly.  His neck is muscular, tapering into the pronounced curve of his Adam's apple.

' _How can a neck be muscular and still so sexy?_ ' she wonders. She traces his upper lip lightly with a fingertip, yelping in surprise as he opens his lips and bites it lightly.

"Oh. I'm so sorry," Orihime gasps, blushing at getting caught.  

He opens one sleepy green eye, sucking on her finger gently.  She is mesmerized as waves of heat suffuse her body, all stemming from his lips around her digit.  Now Orihime can feel his tongue circling her finger and she starts trembling from unrequited lust. "P-please," she breathes, her eyes sliding to half-mast. He releases her finger with a pop, his eyes intense and heated.   

"Woman. It is difficult enough holding you, knowing that you are naked under my clothing," he growls, leaning closer while gripping her wrist. "I cannot touch you. It would be dishonorable to take advantage under the circumstances. Must you tease me as well?" He sounds grumpy and irritated, locking her other wrist behind her back. The position forces her to arch her body into him, and suddenly Orihime is very aware of a hardness pushing into her stomach.   

She feels an answering throb in her own loins, biting her lower lip to hold back a moan.  His eyes darken at the sight of her mouth, dipping down to study her hard nipples pushing against his chest with every breath. His eyes roam her body before snapping back to meet hers, and Orihime feels her stomach flutter at the hunger she finds there.  

"Have a care, woman," Ulquiorra tells her, leaning towards her slowly. "I've already had a taste of you, and I find it difficult to resist taking more." He pauses for a moment, his lips nearly touching hers, then releases his hold on her, rolling over on his back. Orihime sucks in a deep, shuddering breath, closing her eyes to catch a hold of her whirling thoughts. Making her decision, she kneels over him.

 

Ulquiorra cannot understand what the woman is doing. She flips her long hair over her shoulder as she rises on her hands and knees over his body, her eyes heavy. "Please, Ulquiorra," she breathes, "I want you."  

She's not lying; he can smell her arousal a mile away and his body responds accordingly.  Now it is his turn to freeze; he grips the comforter under him tightly, telling himself to resist.  It was bad enough that he had to hold her through the night, and wake up to her damned touch, but to actually have her? Only an asshole would use the current situation to his advantage.  

He closes his eyes, swallowing convulsively as he turns his face away. "You don't even know what that means."  

"I'm not an idiot, you know," the temptress above him says, running her fingers through his prickling scalp. He fights the shiver of lust that courses down his spine. "I know what sex is. I've had it before." The taste of her skin is still on his lips, lingering to taunt his senses.  

"Do you, really?" Ulquiorra counters, meeting her eyes. "Do you know what you're asking for?" She bites her lower lip again. He stifles a groan. Every single time she does that, he wants to suck on her lip and soothe the sting with slow licks.

"I know you want me, too," she says in a small voice. A determined expression crosses her face, and she kisses him, her lips soft and warm.  He holds himself back, closing his eyes and steeling himself against her delicious flavour; to counter this, her tongue delicately probes the seam of his lips.  

His resolve lasts for all of two seconds; in a flurry of movement, he finds himself on top of her, notching his hardness to the soft mound protected by his shirt, his mouth exploring hers. He tastes her sigh of surrender, cradling her face in his hands to angle her head so he can go deeper. "Tell me you need this," he says hoarsely against her mouth, rocking his hips into her.  

She lets out a broken moan, her fingers digging into his shoulder. "Please, Ulquiorra."  

"Tell me you'll die if I don't get inside you," he insists, raking his teeth down her jawline, eliciting a cry from her. "Because that's what it feels like for me. _Tell me._ "  

Her grey eyes open, pupils dilated with arousal as she meets his gaze. "I need you, Ulquiorra, please." Lips parted, cheeks flushed, all Ulquiorra wants to do is feast on her. That is all he needs to hear; raining hot kisses all over her neck, he inches his shirt up her body, worshiping every inch of her newly-revealed skin.

"I'm jealous of this shirt," he mutters as he sucks the softness under her ear. "It's my damned shirt and it touched you before I did." His fingers drag the hem up, exposing her secret center, her flat stomach, and the pink mounds of her breasts. He pulls the shirt over her head. Locking her hands around the bars of the headboard, he surveys, with a gleam of satisfaction, the girl who is stretched out like a pagan offering to him. "Keep your hands there, Orihime. If you take them down, I will stop." He follows the threat with a quick but thorough kiss.  

There is no time for tenderness right now; all he can do is devour. He licks at the hollow of her collarbones, suckling at the pale skin until he marks her.  She bucks under him, her aching emptiness making her cry out. "Such softness, Orihime," he croons against a puckered nipple, lapping at it with a flattened tongue. "I'll make it better for you."  The stubble on his chin marks her sensitive breasts, rubbing at them until they burn a bright pink.  

The soft red fluff above her mound is waxed into a tiny triangle, an arrow pointing to her glistening folds.  He traces her drenched pink slit lightly with his thumb, delving into the melting centre with just the tip of his finger. Orihime arches up with a startled moan. "Does that feel good?" he asks, suckling hard on her other breast. She does not answer, too caught up in the frenzy building in her body.   

His questing fingers find the swollen pearl inside her folds. "You are so wet, it's like you're melting on my fingers," he murmurs against the soft flesh under her breast. She is chanting his name now, sobbing out broken syllables in time to the movement of his fingers circling her sensitive clit.  

"I'd be worried that you're too tight, Orihime, but you're so wet I don't think it matters." Her body spasms around his fingers at his words."You're pretty close to coming now. I think you like being fingered, Orihime. You're such a good girl, but you're secretly naughty. I haven't even gone inside you yet, and you're so close."  

He eases a finger inside her, biting back a curse at her tightness. She mewls helplessly, arching off the bed, her hips moving in time to his fingers. He works a second finger in, stretching her slowly as he laps at the fine sheen of sweat covering her navel, his eyes on her face searching for any sign of discomfort.  "Ulquiorra," she sobs, digging her heels into the bed. "Please."

She hisses out a breath, begging for mercy, for anything to stop this delicious torture. Relentlessly he moves his fingers, in and out, growling against her slick skin. "You can barely take my fingers, Orihime," he tells her, gritting his teeth to endure the hot tight grasp of her body. "Do you like that?"  She responds with a wail, and it turns into a scream as he uses his thumbs to part the velvet folds, stroking the little bundle of nerves until she starts spasming uncontrollably. She comes apart under his hands in seconds, sobbing his name as her whole body collapses.  

His fierce green eyes watch her carefully while he stretches out on top of her, kicking off his pants. "Exquisite," he breathes, positioning himself at the entrance to her body.  She tenses as he works the head in, fighting to keep control of his body.  

"Does it hurt, Orihime?" he grinds out, stilling when he sees discomfort cross her face. She nods, her body fighting his intrusion. "Too much," she gasps out.  Bracing his forehead against hers, he pulls out, then pushes back in shallowly, taking her lips in a crushing kiss. He rubs himself against her repeatedly until her eyes roll back in her head. Using his fingers to tease her, Ulquiorra marvels at her responsiveness, brushing them against her nipples.  

He waits until she is moaning, her breathy pleas signalling that he should continue.  She is so soft. It is all he can do to keep his own instincts at bay, fighting the urge to ravage her like a crazed animal. Soon, she is pushing back against him, moving beneath him jerkily, her fingers clawing at his shoulders. Tearing his mouth from hers, he exhales roughly, afraid to hurt her.  

 _'Think of other things,_ ' he tells himself, slowing down ' _Make it good for her_.' A million thoughts run through his head as he pushes himself into her; mostly memories; the first time he enters the coffee shop and sees her, like a flickering flame in a grey world; how he averts his eyes because he is at once afraid and exhilarated; the smile on her face every time he comes into the store, too bright for him to look at.    

Orihime's back arches off the bed, and she locks her dark eyes onto his; they are full of an emotion he cannot name, and he wonders if she will see the exact same emotion in his own eyes. On a broken sigh, she bites her lower lip, bracing herself as she pushes up to take him completely.  Ulquiorra is not prepared for how overwhelming it is, how mind-blowingly good she feels around him. ' _Focus,_ ' he tells himself, cautiously at first until he reassures himself that he isn't hurting her.

More memories flash past him; holding her hand as they walk into the crisp autumn night; her surprise cookie for him; the tears on her face as she talks about her brother; the rage coursing through him as he races towards Luppi who is holding a gun to her head; her sketchpad, with images of him in different poses; and tonight, in the bathroom, backed into a corner, her eyes wild and terrified. 

He looks down at her as she trembles in his arms, her eyes focused on his as they move together, sweat beading on her forehead. Their movements get more and more frantic, in a dance as old as time.

And then it is so simple; Ulquiorra realizes that he loves her. With that thought, all his defenses tumble, and he empties himself inside her, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She follows a half-second behind him, her body milking his in rhythmic clenches, their breaths mingling. He collapses on top of her, all the urgency now replaced by soft slow kisses, his hand tangling in her hair.   

Ulquiorra has always suspected love would make him weak. But he does not feel weak at all; instead he feels... full. As if there was an emptiness inside him that is no longer present. And it feels right, holding her, being inside her like this. It feels perfect, right now. But he knows there is no point trying to make it last.

 

"Ulquiorra," Orihime asks in a small voice after a few minutes. "May I ask you a question?"   

He laces his fingers with hers as she lies on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "You may."  

"Did-- Did you kill that man last night?" A tear splashes his skin.  

He pulls her close. "Yes." His fingers rub her scalp in soothing circles.

Her lower lip quivers, but she nods, settling in the crook of his shoulder. "Do you know why he killed my big brother, Ulquiorra?"

There is a long pause. Ulquiorra closes his eyes briefly, and then opens them again, looking her in the eye. "I know about it, yes." He feels her body tense under his, and strokes the silk of her hair, feeling her slow tears drip on his shoulder. "I was made aware of it only recently."  

Her despair is a tangible thing, and she withdraws from him emotionally and physically. Curling up in a ball away from him, she takes sobbing breaths. He can see the bumps of her spine on her back, but he knows he is not fit to touch her, nor to offer comfort. Carefully, he wraps the blanket around her to protect her from the chill of the air, and rises, tugging on his pants, to make breakfast.   

 

* * *

 

Orihime is tired of crying. It feels like that is all she has done these past 24 hours. Well, that and the best sex of her life. There is a battle going on inside her; it is a fight to the death with her heart, which has fallen completely for Ulquiorra, and her brain, which is telling her to run fast and far. Holding the blanket up to her chest, she sits up, her tumbled mass of hair falling over her face.

"Stop crying, Orihime Inoue," she scolds herself. "You're just wallowing in self-pity now." Sliding her legs over the side of the massive bed, she winces at the sudden soreness of muscles that have not been used in a long time. The sight of the discarded shirt on the floor has her blushing, remembering the feel of his lips on hers.   

Orihime limps to the bathroom to take another shower, to wash off the remains of their lovemaking. As she steps into the shower stall, testing the temperature of the water, her mind drifts back to the other men in her life who had sex with her. She realizes that maybe all of them were just preparing her for this man. Who is, in fact, a killer, and somehow connected to her brother's murder.    

"I'm an idiot," she says aloud, ducking her head under the hot spray of water. She grabs the shampoo again, working her hair into a lather as the hot water pounds her abused muscles. She finishes the rest of her shower quickly, toweling off with the same towel from the night before; at least she thinks it is the same towel, they are all white.   

He must have come in while she was showering, because her lingerie from the night before is neatly laid out on the counter. She slips on the underwear, grateful for clean clothing at least.  She pulls on one of his white button-downs, folding the cuffs up to her elbows. It is long enough to be a dress on her.  Braiding her hair into a knot on the top of her head, Orihime sighs at her reflection. Could be worse, she supposes with a shrug. At least her body is less sore, although her knees are still weak.

She makes her way downstairs to the kitchen, where she spots her sketchpad on the table. Ulquiorra's back is turned while he is frying french toast on the stove. "Are you feeling better?" he asks. She does not answer; her eyes are glued to the now-found sketchpad. "I thought that you might want it back," he continues, expertly plating out the freshly made french toast and serving it to her. He loads another slice onto the pan. 

"So... You've seen the drawing then?" Orihime asks, her heart sinking.  

He does not reply at first, flipping the toast over. Then he glances at her, his green eyes unreadable. "Yes."  

Orihime stares at the floor. "I'm sorry, I--"  

"I like it. May I keep it?" Ulquiorra interrupts, pulling the toast out of the pan. She cannot believe her ears, so she just stares at him, dumbfounded.  He finishes off the servings with some sliced strawberries, and sits down beside her.  

"You like it? Really? The one in front? With the wings?" she repeats incredulously.  

He nods."It reminds me of my brother." Wordlessly, she opens her sketchpad, carefully detaching the front drawing, and slides it over to him. He takes it, and sticks it on his otherwise bare fridge with a round magnet. When he returns to his seat, she focuses on her plate self-consciously.  

"What was your brother like?" Orihime asks curiously.  

"He loved his comic books and superheroes. The name he chose for himself was Batman, because he said he looked like he was half-bat and half-human," Ulquiorra murmurs, looking at her with his sad eyes. 

Orihime giggles. "That's funny, he must have had a sense of humour, then." Her smile fades when she sees the expression on his face.

"He did, though it was meant to be ironic. He was born with cerebral palsy, so _our father_ ," at this, Ulquiorra's lips twist into a sneer," refused to name him. He said that my brother was going to die anyway, so there was no point." He meets her horrified eyes. "That is the reason his grave only reads Cifer."

Orihime reaches out, touching his hand. "I'm so sorry to hear that."  

"Why? It's not your fault, woman." He jerks a shoulder up, shoveling strawberries into his mouth. She notices that he only calls her woman when he wants to push her away.  

Her eyes wander to a photo on the wall, of a young Ulquiorra. He is maybe four or five years old, and he is on the lap of a stern-looking older man, while a woman - his mother, she assumes -  has a smaller version of him in her arms, a brother with his eyes and a much weaker body. There is an old man standing behind them as well, a C-shaped pin glittering on his tie.  

"Is that him?" she asks, standing up to take a closer look. The two boys' hands are clasped together.  

"Yes. That is the only photo that father ever allowed of us all. I still have trouble believing Grandfather is in it. He was much colder than my father was. It was his idea not to name my brother." Ulquiorra says tonelessly. "He created Cifer Corp, but my father runs it now, ever since he passed away."

"When did your brother die?" Orihime asks quietly. This man, she thinks, has been as intimate with her as two people can be, but right now he is more distant than the moon.  

"Six years ago,"Ulquiorra mutters, his hair falling messily forward as he ducks his head. "In a hospital ward, all alone, because our mother died when we were eight, and Father had banned me from seeing him. I was so close to gaining custody of him. We had just turned 21, you see. I rushed through high school and university, and father had made a deal with me to let me take him, if I graduated and took over the family business. But he had no intention of relinquishing his bargaining chip to me, his heir. So my brother died. I left home and signed up to work for Mr. Aizen."   

Orihime reaches over to hug him. He seems irritated by the attention, but tolerates it anyway. "This is not necessary for me, woman. It has been six years." They eat in silence for a while longer, before she speaks again.

"Do you remember that night? When we accidentally... kissed?" Orihime asks, tucking a curl behind her ear. His fork pauses mid-air, as he turns to look at her.  

"What about it?"  

"That was my first kiss," she says it in a low voice, so quietly he has to strain to hear it.  

He studies her, cocking his head curiously. "But you have had sex before. You said you were not a virgin."  

"No," Orihime's voice trails off, and she wonders if she is making a mistake admitting this to him. But she pushes forward anyway. "After my brother died... I went a little crazy, I think. I was so starved for affection, that I fell in love with any boy who gave me the slightest amount of attention. The girls were cruel, but the boys..." She focuses on the last triangle of bread on her plate, stabbing it viciously with a fork.  

"There was one in particular... I really liked him. I let him take my virginity in an empty classroom. The next day, I thought he was my boyfriend, but he spread the rumour around school that I was easy. There were two other boys after that, but it was more of the same thing. They used me for sex, and when they got it, they discarded me." She jumps, startled, as he tips over his mug accidentally, spilling scalding coffee on his hand.  

"Oh, quick, we need to run cold water over the burn," Orihime insists, dragging him over to the sink in a repeat of that day in the coffee shop. Sliding his hand under the icy water, she does not notice his other hand until it is curled around her waist, holding her close to him.

"Orihime," Ulquiorra murmurs, pressing his lips to the top of her head. "Why did you let me touch you? Aren't you afraid?" She stills in his arms, closing her eyes.  

"I'm always afraid, Ulquiorra," she whispers, leaning into him. "Except when I'm with you. With you I feel safe."

"You trust me?" He sounds disbelieving, as he shuts off the water. "After everything that has happened?"  

"That's easy," Orihime sighs, smiling as he releases her waist, threading the fingers of his good hand through hers. "Yes. Because of everything that has happened." He spins her around so she faces him, her back to the sink, and studies her face as if she were a new exotic animal he had never seen before. She tiptoes up and pulls his face close, kissing him sweetly on the lips.   

"Orihime," Ulquiorra says, ripping his mouth from hers. "I need to ask you a question."  

"Okay?" she asks, her head still muddled by his kiss.

"All of your brother's research and files, for the last piece he was working on. Where do you keep it?" His eyes are intent, as he cradles her face in his hand.  

"It's in the storage locker at my apartment. Why?" Orihime replies, looking confused now.  

He shakes his head, running his thumb over her lips, serious again. "I need you to trust me a little longer." At her nod, he continues, "Are you going to work today?"  

Orihime's eyes widen. "Oh, I'm supposed to be working this afternoon!" she squeaks. "But I need to go home and get my clothes. I have nothing to wear!"  

"Eat your breakfast, woman. I'll take you home," he tells her, guiding her back to her chair.

 

* * *

 

The car ride to her place is quick and uneventful, although the skies look ominous. Ulquiorra pulls the Bentley up to the sidewalk in front of her building. "Do you need me to come up with you?" Ulquiorra asks, his eyes searching hers. She seems a little flustered.  

Orihime shakes her head, blushing as she unhooks her seatbelt. "I... I'll be fine," she replies, picking up her purse. "Thank you for taking care of me, Ulquiorra." Leaning over, she kisses his cheek. Her hair smells like his shampoo, and it gives Ulquiorra a primal sense of satisfaction.   

Before she can move away, he slides a hand up the back of her neck so he can kiss her more thoroughly. Her lips are sweet, her own unique flavour and the minty flavor of toothpaste, and he goes deeper, slipping his tongue past the sharp edge of her teeth to play with hers. ' _Mine,'_ he thinks, releasing her reluctantly. ' _My woman.'_  

"Have a good day at work," he says aloud. She looks at him with dazed eyes and nods, a blush tinting her cheeks.  He watches her fumble with the door, and head out the car, pausing on the sidewalk to give him a sunny smile, forgetting that she is dressed only in one of his shirts. Then she heads inside, the gate door swinging shut behind her. Ulquiorra does not like how empty the car feels without her.  

Driving away, he opens the windows to clear his head. The fall winds are slowly giving way to the icy chill of winter, and he welcomes the cold. Then, he hits a button to close the window, and pulls over again, reaching for his phone.  

The number he dials rings twice, before someone picks up. "Ulquiorra?"

"Yes, Mr. Aizen. I wish to report that the girl has given me the location of the files."  

"Very good, Ulquiorra. Please secure them and then come see me. I also have another matter I wish to discuss with you." The line goes dead. Ulquiorra eyes it impassively, then hangs up, executing a U-turn.

 

* * *

 

Orihime pushes the door open, her face red. "I'm sorry, Chizuru, I had to run all the way-- " her voice stops abruptly as she spots Ichigo in a suit, flanked by two other people.  

"Thank God, you're okay, Orihime," he says, walking towards her, but is stopped by a tall, slender man wearing glasses.  Her eyes flick towards Chizuru, who shrugs and goes back to wiping down the table.  

Wide-eyed, she turns to them. "What do you mean? Let me put down my stuff, okay? I'll be right back." She heads to the back room, pulling on an apron. Chizuru enters.  

"Hime-chan!" The smaller girl hugs her from behind. "How was your date with Ulquiorra?" Chizuru's eyes fall on the edge of a red mark peeking out from Orihime's open collar and she lets out a loud squeal. "Don't tell me... No, you didn't, you naughty girl!"  

Orihime blushes, buttoning up her collar hastily. "What? I... Um, what does Ichigo want?"  

Chizuru purses her lips, cocking a hip. "Well, he came in here early looking for you. He was really insistent too, he told me to text you and call you but you didn't pick up. Wow, Hime-chan, you sure are popular. First with Grumpy Cat and Grimmy and now Ichigo is here on his day off." Her shrewd eyes stare at the auburn-haired girl. "I know I keep asking you this, but are you in any trouble? I mean, that whole schoolgirl thing was kinda sketchy...," her voice trails off as she looks Orihime over suspiciously. "Tatsuki and I are pretty worried."   

The red-cheeked Orihime hurriedly hustles her out the door. "I'm fine! You don't need to worry," she promises, smiling sheepishly at her. "Let me just see why Ichigo wants to talk to me."

"You have fifteen minutes. It's a slow business day anyway." Chizuru tells her, waving her off.

Orihime smiles her thanks, and walks up to Ichigo's table. A dark-haired woman with purple eyes leans against the redhead's arm, studying a laptop that the third occupant of the table is showing her. "Anything I can get you folks?" she greets. They all rise to their feet.  

"Can we talk someplace private?" the woman asks, her eyes sharp and assessing. Orihime nods, taking them outside to the patio.

"I have not been completely honest with you, Orihime," Ichigo admits, showing her a badge. "This is Rukia Kuchiki, the district attorney, and Uryuu Ishida, my partner. And I am Police Inspector Ichigo Kurosaki. I have been working undercover for the past few months, conducting surveillance on Mr. Sosuke Aizen and his subordinates, including Ulquiorra Cifer." 

Orihime blinks at him, digesting this. "You mean... You aren't really a delivery man, then."   

He shakes his head. "No."

The woman takes the lead. "We need to know what happened yesterday at the Nezu Museum, Ms. Inoue, and the events leading up to it. Two people died, and you were present. Please tell us about your day leading up to the incident and afterwards. How are you connected to Mr. Aizen and Mr. Cifer?"  

"Um. Ulquiorra is a customer here, and you know him, Ichigo, you've seen him here a few times." Orihime is not quite sure what to say. "And Mr. Aizen, I met him by accident at the museum. Why are you following him? He's a really nice guy. Grimmjow told me that Mr. Aizen took care of Luppi's dad when he was let go," she pauses, finally realizing the implications of her words.  

"Orihime," the woman says gently, "What do you know of Mr. Aizen?"  

"He has been really kind to me. In fact, he sent me to the spa to get my hair and nails done, and bought me a dress, and went to my house with Grimmy and Ulquiorra to make them apologize for upsetting me." Orihime knits her brows together; now that she is saying everything aloud, it does sound suspicious. "Isn't he a successful businessman?"  

"Yes," Rukia answers, looking at Ichigo uncertainly. "But,  Orihime, Mr. Aizen is Tokyo's biggest crime lord. He is the head of the Arrancar gang. The businessman image is a front, so he can be accepted in polite circles."  

"What?" Orihime exclaims, her thoughts whirling. Mr. Aizen always travelled with Ulquiorra and Grimmjow and they carried weapons to protect him; but it was normal for rich businessmen to have bodyguards, right? But then Luppi shot at him, ambushing them at the museum... Who else would be powerful enough to shut down a whole museum for the night? Yoruichi Shihoin's worried face crosses her memory.  

"Ms. Inoue," the bespectacled man interjects, "We have reason to believe that seven years ago, Luppi Antenor killed your brother on Sosuke Aizen's orders."  

All the blood drains from Orihime's face, causing her to sit abruptly on a chair. It makes sense now, if Luppi killed her brother while working for Mr. Aizen. But... in that case... then the gang boss that Sora was investigating would have been...

"Oh my God," she gasps, raising trembling fingers to her mouth. "Sora was investigating Mr. Aizen." She remembers asking Ulquiorra if he knew why her brother was killed, and his answer. At the time, she was too afraid to ask why. And now she wonders, if she should have.

Ishida and Ichigo exchange looks as Rukia pats her shoulder sympathetically. "Did your brother leave any notes or evidence that he collected about the story he was working on?"  

Orihime's tear-filled eyes meet hers. "Yes, but I just told Ulquiorra where they were, about an hour ago. But he wouldn't do anything with them, would he? They're back in my apartment building, in my basement. But he left after he dropped me off."  

Cursing, Ishida pulls out his phone, walking away as he barks out orders into the mouthpiece.

"But..." Orihime insists, rising to her feet. "Ulquiorra wouldn't betray me like that, would he?" She cannot bear the pity in Ichigo and Rukia's gazes. "No, he wouldn't." They wait in silence as the other man starts yelling into the phone.   

"I... I have to go," Orihime whispers, going back inside to work. She needs to keep her hands busy, to do something, anything to keep her from this devastation.

Chizuru notes the look on her face and decides not to say anything. 

  

* * *

 

 

Ishida strides back, eyes blazing. "I just got off the phone with some officers in that area. It looks like Cifer got there first. We have to head there now to see if there is anything left. I think we should take her in." He scowls as he slides into the backseat of their car.  

Rukia sighs, sliding into the passenger seat . "The girl is naïve, but I hate to be the one to tell her that Cifer used her to get to the information." She looks at Ichigo, who is clicking on his seatbelt in the drivers' seat. "It seems as though she really loves him."  

Ichigo reaches over and grabs her fingers after he starts the car, his eyes worried. "Well, do we have enough to take her into protective custody?"  

Shaking her head, Rukia points out, "There's no direct threat against her. They've got what they wanted."   

The redhead pounds the steering wheel with his fist. "That poor girl. And what of Cifer? We can still get him, right? We have him for manslaughter, with video evidence," he asks hopefully. 

She scowls, squeezing his fingers back. "It's going to be tough trying to prove that Luppi Antenor did not die four years ago. His father had him legally declared dead so that he could collect on a 20 million dollar insurance policy, and that's going to be almost impossible to overturn."

"So, you're saying he cannot be tried for killing a legally dead man?" Ishida snarls from the backseat.  

"No." Rukia mutters, frustrated.  "But we'll find something to take them all down."  

...

* * *

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Bleach, bentley and batman do not belong to me. Nope, not making any money from this.

 

X .

.

Aizen lifts his head as his wayward subordinate strides into his home office. He gives the younger man a cursory once-over, although as expected,  Ulquiorra  looks exactly the same as yesterday, with slightly shorter hair. Tier Harribel comes in on his heels, looking a lot more disheveled and haggard. 

"Good afternoon, Mr. Aizen." Ulquiorra bows at a proper 45-degree angle, his gaze respectfully averted. The blonde Espada  bows as well.

"Excellent, you're both here. Please give your report first, Tier." Aizen sips his coffee, a mild frown between his brows the only sign of emotion on his face. 

"Yes, sir."  Harribel clears her throat, checking out her tablet. "Four years ago, after Luppi was discovered giving insider information to his father, he was thrown off a bridge by Grimm--"

"Yes, yes, I  am  aware of  that. I was there," Aizen drawls, a touch of impatience in his voice."Skip the parts I know." Tier lifts startled eyes to him, and bows again.  Ulquiorra's face does not change expression at his outburst.

"He survived the fall, and was plotting with his father ever since. And when we traced his aliases and his last known address, there was evidence that he had been planning the ambush for some time. And sir – may I please have a look at your watch ?" Tier asks politely.  

Aizen  unstraps his own watch , studying it, before bursting into laughter. "A bug on my watch. How pedestrian. I cannot believe I overlooked it, and my Espada as well. I wonder how  Luppi  had gotten past you all to plant a bug on my watch," he sighs, tossing it to Tier´s feet. Cold fury seeps through his façade. He sees her shoulders tighten. Good. He wants her afraid. 

But now is not the time to alienate his Espada; although they are paid insanely well, Aizen knows that fear and loyalty are the only things keeping them close, and a fine balance must be kept at all times. "However...  Luppi was an Espada, and a Sexta at that. I suppose it can't be helped. Continue, Tier." He waves his hand, indicating that she resume her report.

"Y-yes. And that's how he was able to figure out the plans for yesterday's event. He came in with the intention of assassinating Nnoitra, Grimmjow, and you, sir, as far as we know. Luppi succeeded in eliminating  Nnoitra , with a gunshot to the head. Luppi also incapacitated Grimmjow by shooting him in the arm, and Tesla with a blow to the temples.  Ulquiorra was taking the car back home on your orders, but he had not gotten very far before I managed to call him as backup, shortly after you left. He arrived and terminated Luppi with a fatal shot to the head," Tier explains. 

At his nod of acknowledgment, she continues,"The cleanup crew arrived right after the police did, but we managed to hold off the authorities long enough to dispose of the bodies and all the evidence. The Nezu museum's entryway has been scrubbed of evidence, and we turned off all the video feeds before the evening started."

"What about the girl?" Aizen asks, turning to Ulquiorra. 

"I took her to a safe location and kept her there overnight," he responds, looking straight ahead.

"I was disappointed that you took that action without consulting me first." Aizen chides, studying his Cuatro. "In fact, I was beginning to doubt your loyalty."  He leans his cheek on his fist. "You sent me that text telling us you were  _incommunicado _ until today. What was that about, Ulquiorra? By the way, Tier, you can leave." The blonde Espada bows again, her eyes darting to the man next to her. Whirling around on her heels, she heads out the door, closing it behind her. Aizen gestures for him to continue.  

"The woman was in shock, and in a vulnerable position. I took advantage of that and moved her to a secure location," Ulquiorra states calmly. 

"But after I went to all the trouble of sending her to the spa and getting her a Shihoin dress, I did want to play with her a little." Aizen remarks, tracing the rim of his cup with a fingertip. The Espada does not so much as flicker an eyelid, remaining impassive. "Did you at least fuck her? Would have been a shame to let that go to waste."

"It was necessary to gain her trust in order to get her to reveal the information we required." Ulquiorra replies tonelessly, keeping his eyes down and his face blank.  Aizen  scans his face for a moment and lets out a sharp bark of laughter. "Of course! You saw an opportunity and took it." The boss beams proudly, clapping his hands. "You're a cold bastard, Ulquiorra Cifer." 

It was three years in Aizen's employ before Ulquiorra stopped flinching at the use of his own last name. For some reason, today, Aizen wants to puncture the Cuatro's impenetrable wall of ice. "Just like your father."  

If he wasn't watching Ulquiorra so closely, he would have missed the tightening of the younger man's jaw. Aizen feels a rush of satisfaction at this. "Was she any good?" 

Ulquiorra  does not reply, averting his eyes. Waiting a beat to drive his point home, Aizen continues, "Good thing I know you so well, Ulquiorra. You only did this because you thought this was the best course of action, and not out of any attachment to the woman, correct? If it were any other  Espada, I wouldn't be so fond of sharing my toys. Eh, no matter. She is just a naïve little girl. Well, I guess you made her a woman, yes?" He throws a wink at his poker-faced subordinate. "And all the files?" 

"Are secured, sir," Ulquiorra finishes in his monotone.

"Excellent. Good job killing Luppi. I know you hate cleaning up after other people's mistakes, and I'm going to have to punish Grimmjow for screwing up that hit. Think of the girl as your reward, then." Aizen sips the rest of his coffee, and wipes his lips on a napkin. "By the way, remember how we bankrupted Toyama and forced him to sell his business to us?"

Ulquiorra raises unreadable green eyes to meet his. 

Aizen smiles gleefully. "We're about to do the same to your father. I know you've been following the news. Cifer Corp stocks have been sinking steadily for a while now. They may be hitting bottom soon. We've got a meeting with your daddy dearest to finalize the sale of your family's company this Friday. I want you to sit in on that meeting. You've almost got your revenge, Ulquiorra." 

The Cuatro's hands clench into fists. This is probably the most emotion Ulquiorra has ever displayed in front of him, Aizen muses. "Will you be coming?" 

"Yes." The intensity in the younger man's eyes has Aizen smirking. 

"Excellent. I think it's best if we let it leak to the media that Las Noches is going to be acquiring the failing Cifer Corp. That should ensure a rise in the stocks once we have acquired it." Aizen steeples his fingers, leaning back into his chair.

Ulquiorra nods, a steely glint in his eye. "Yes, Mr. Aizen." 

* * *

 

 

The white van has been parked in front of Ulquiorra's front gate for the past three days. He notices it on the first day; a narrow-faced man with glasses sits in the drivers' seat, reading a manga. Ulquiorra vaguely remembers seeing car the night of the Nezu Museum incident, but mostly he knows it from the coffee shop, perpetually parked at the curb. Definitely police-issue; the bars on the grill are a dead giveaway, and the fake logo on the side for a delivery company.  

On Wednesday, he drives out in his black BMW, read y to head to work. As the front gates slide open, the main driveway is blocked by an irate red-headed delivery man, who is now dressed in what seems to be the dress code of policemen everywhere; dirty jeans, a wrinkled white t-shirt, a black leather jacket , a badge on a chain around his neck, and hands on hips.  To annoy him, Ulquiorra guns the engine, pulling the brakes at the last minute. The car coasts to a halt two inches from the man's denim jeans.  He is gratified to see beads of sweat form on the ma n's forehead, but has to give him points for not budging. 

He turns off the car, sliding out. "Yes, Ichigo Kurosaki?" Ulquiorra stands just inside the gates, hands folded behind his back.  It makes sense that the delivery man is actually a policeman, now  that he thinks about it, for all the surreptitious glances that the man sent his way. Not a very good one, though. 

"Ulquiorra Cifer," Kurosaki replies coolly, pulling off his sunglasses.  _How very  cliched_, Ulquiorra thinks, mentally rolling his eyes. He does not answer, knowing it will annoy the man. 

"We have you on video for manslaughter,"  the policeman continues, hands on his hips.

"Are you arresting me?" the Espada responds, his tone mildly interested. Kurosaki  narrows his eyes. Ulquiorra waits patiently for an answer. 

"What did you do with Orihime's  property?" 

_'Nice deflection,_ '  Ulquiorra thinks, ' _but not good enough.' _ Aloud, he asks, "Which property you are referring to?" 

"You know what I am talking about," comes the reply.  _ Ah, so this is a fishing expedition. Too lazy to do your research? _

"Are you accusing me of a crime-" he pauses, reaching over to read the badge. "-Inspector Kurosaki? Because if you are, you must read me my rights. And I have a right to legal counsel."  Ulquiorra  straightens up, looking the other man  in the eye. "So, am I under arrest? Or are you merely harassing me?"

Watching the frustration build in the policeman's amber eyes is deeply satisfying. "I thought so." Ulquiorra  finishes, turning back around to head to his car. "Good day, Inspector."

"Wait," the man calls desperately. 

Ulquiorra sighs. "This is rapidly becoming less and less amusing, Kurosaki," he pronounces, casting a bored look over his shoulder. 

"As Orihime's friend," Kurosaki begins.  Ulquiorra quickly snuffs out the urge to do violence at the mere mention of her name by this piece of trash. _How dare he._ "I assume you're done with her,  Cifer. Then stay away from her, please. She's been through enough."

"I see you've appointed yourself her protector." Ulquiorra's voice is low and mocking. "Then keep her safe. If you cannot, then get out of the way."

"She knows the truth now, about what you do, about what  Aizen  truly does, what he represents. And she still clings to the hope that you'll come back to her," Kurosaki bites out. "She thinks she's in love with you. We both know what kind of a man you are, and now that you've gotten what you need from her, just please leave her alone. She does not stand a chance against you, or  Aizen . Leave her out of this."

Ulquiorra  is tempted to plant  his fist into the other man's face, for daring to intervene. "She cries too much," he says instead. "It was tedious and boring, all that naïveté. I'm glad to be done with her. Not that it matters, policeman.  It's not like you authorities could do anything  to protect her.  Not from someone with the resources at Mr. Aizen's disposal. I can find her, anytime I want to. She is nothing more than a mere girl, a plaything."  

_ 'Reverse psychology is really underrated,_' Ulquiorra thinks. ' _Especially on simpletons._ ' Now the seed has been planted, he can practically hear the gears spinning in Kurosaki's brain. The orange-haired man hisses out, "You bastard. I will hide her from you and keep her safe."

Because of where he is standing, the policeman cannot see the slight smirk cross Ulquiorra's lips. "You can try." 

Ulquiorra slips back into the driver's seat, flooring the gas pedal. The car lurches forward. 

Kurosaki dives out of the way, cursing.

* * *

 

 

"Yo,  Ulquiorra." The Cuatro looks up from his desk to find Grimmjow standing in the doorway, his arm in a cast. It was Grimmjow's  first day back, and Ulquiorra heard that he had spent the day getting chewed out by Mr. Aizen for his carelessness in the botched dismissal of Luppi four years ago. 

"Grimmjow."  Ulquiorra utters his name with the same enthusiasm one would have for a root canal, looking up from his laptop to the blue-haired man. Despite his pallor, Grimmjow looks surprisingly energetic. "What is it?"

"I need a drink, man." The taller man folds himself into the seat in Ulquiorra's office, whining about unfair lectures and cockroaches who should stay dead. Ulquiorra listens with half an ear, skimming through the reports of his father's company holdings, and how they would be integrated into the rest of Las Noches in preparation for the next day's meeting. 

After noticing that his complaints are being ignored, Grimmjow rises to his feet. "Ulq, it's 9:30 PM. Time for you to clock out. Let's go get a drink. Celebrate my being alive!" 

Sighing, the dark-haired man lets  Grimmjow  herd him out of the door and down the stairs to the garage. _Why not,_   Ulquiorra figures. _It beats going home._ "Let's take my car!" the  Sexta  says, digging into his pocket for the keys. 

Ulquiorra eyes his sling suspiciously. "Can you drive with that?" 

"Sure I can!" Grimmjow chortles, unlocking the doors. 

' _He is remarkably chipper for someone in his state _ _,_ ' Ulquiorra reflects, entering the passenger seat. As soon as seat belts are buckled, Grimmjow  takes off. 

And then Ulquiorra remembers, too late, why he always drives when he is with Grimmjow; even with two functioning arms, Grimmjow  drives like a maniac. 

_ 'I must be going senile,_' Ulquiorra thinks, grabbing the handle above the door with both hands,  _ 'forgetting something so basic. Death by bullet would be less stressful than this.'  _

"Do you want me to drive?" he offers, as Grimmjow takes a sharp turn.  

Grimmjow grins, all teeth. "Why? Are you scared, Cuatro?" Ulquiorra  decides to ignore him and hope for the best, staring out the window. 

"So, what happened last Saturday after you took our Hime-chan away?"  Grimmjow  cajoles, leaning his sling on the window sill.  Ulquiorra  does not answer.  "She sent me a text on Sunday night, asking about you. What do you want me to tell her?"

_ That I miss her desperately. That I can't go home anymore because her memory has tainted every surface she touched. That I can still taste her skin. That I'm sorry it has to be this way. _ "Say whatever you want," he replies instead in his usual monotone. "It does not matter." 

Grimmjow smiles his feral grin. "I knew you would say that."  Too late,  Ulquiorra realizes that they are near the coffee shop. 

"I thought we were going for a drink," Ulquiorra frowns, his brows furrowing. The Sexta parks the car in a jerky motion. 

"We are. Coffee is a drink."Grimmjow exits the vehicle, slamming the door. Ulquiorra has no choice but to follow suit. 

"I'm not going in there," hemutters, eyes narrowed as he plants himself on the car's hood. "They're probably closing soon. I do not wish to talk to her." 

"Come on, I want to see the bunny!" the blue-haired man whines. "I haven't seen her since Saturday. It's Thursday!"

"Do not drag me into this."  Ulquiorra  says coldly. "The job is over, Grimmjow , if you recall. We no longer need to be around the woman."

"Hypocrite, you were hanging around her long before we were given the mission."  Grimmjow  points out. "And we're friends with her now. So what's the harm in seeing her again?"

Ulquiorra grabs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, feeling the beginnings of a headache.  "Do you not understand? You place her in danger by simply being around her. And she must not see me, under any circumstances. I took her brother's evidence f rom her without her consent" visibly annoyed, he curtly adds, "Do you think she will be angry with me? No, she will run to me with open arms and tears in her eyes because that is how much she is lacking in common sense and self-respect. No, I do not wish to see her, and if you call yourself her friend, neither should you." 

Grimmjow scowls. "Well let me just grab a fucking coffee then."

"Do not tell her I am here."  Ulquiorra reiterates, his eyes dark.  Grimmjow nods sulkily, walking away. 

Orihime looks up as the bells jingle on the door. "Grimmy!" she gasps. Feeling her heart kick up, she looks behind him, but it seems that he is alone. 

"Grimmjow! We're closing now but you've got great timing." Chizuru greets from beside her. "What happened to your arm?" 

The blue-haired man gives her his most innocent smile. "Would you believe I fell down?" He saunters over to the counter, flashing his teeth. Orihime averts her eyes. 

"Hey, did you know Ichigo is also a policeman? I just found out the other day!" Chizuru blurts out. "I wonder why he was doing deliveries. Maybe a cop's salary is not very big, eh?"

Grimmjow blinks at her. "Who is Ichigo?"

"Oh, our regular delivery guy. Orange hair, super nice?" Chizuru chirps. Orihime tugs her out of the way, to get her to stop blabbering. "You met him at Orihime's." 

"That guy..." Grimmjow's eyes zero in on Orihime, "is a cop?" She turns away, heading to the espresso counter. The mixture of wariness and suspicion on his face pretty much confirms the accusations that Ichigo had made. 

"Chizuru, stop gossiping about other customers and take his order," Orihime hisses. 

"Yeah. Strange, huh?" Chizuru shrugs, swiping her key on the counter. "Is it just you today? What about Grumpy Cat?"

"Grumpy Cat, I like that. Heh. Totally suits him. I'm going to use that." Grimmjow snickers, the subject completely changed. "What does he usually get?" 

"A double espresso," Orihime  blurts out, her eyes snapping to his. Grimmjow gives her a small wave. 

"But one time he got the Earl Grey tea to go," Chizuru points out. Orihime  turns to her, remembering that, and wondering why.

"Well, I'll have a caramel  frappuccino  then. For me."  Grimmjow  says casually.  Orihime  moves to make his drink as Chizuru rings in  the order. "And I guess a double espresso and an Earl whatsit."

Orihime's head jerks up again. "Is he here?"

Grimmjow scratches his chin. "Well, I can't rightly say... but I will be seeing him later." 

"Grimm, how is he doing?” Orihime asks in a quieter tone. 

He looks at her for a long moment, and shrugs."Seems the same to me." She feels her chest ache at the words, and focuses on finishing the drinks. Forcing a smile on her face, she hands him the tray of drinks. "Have a good evening."

As he leaves, Orihime impulsively grabs two pastry bags, placing a cookie and a croissant in them, chasing him out the door. "Grimmy, wait." 

The blue-haired man stops, giving her a crooked smile. "Eh, bunny?"

She stops in front of him. "Thank you for... for covering my eyes, that night." Holding up the bags, she looks at him.  Grimmjow eyes the pastries, the tips of his ears suspiciously red as he accepts them. "I had to wash off your blood from my hands and... I'm so happy you're okay, Grimmjow. I wish I had called you to check on you right after. I am a terrible friend. You had to come here instead of me visiting you when you were sick. I'm sorry." 

"Uh, that's okay." Grimmjow says awkwardly. "I'm here now, no big deal." They stand in silence for a moment, before Orihime looks up at him again.

"Grimmy, is Ulquiorra mad at me?" she asks in a small voice. "I haven't heard from him since we-- since Sunday morning. He isn't replying to my calls or messages."

The man is visibly uncomfortable at her question. "I... Maybe you should let the matter go, Hime-chan," he says kindly. "Just let it go. I know you really like him. But he's not... he does not feel things."

Biting her lip, she nods. "I see. Well," giving him a wobbly smile, Orihime presses a kiss to her fingertips and touches his elbow. "I hope your arm heals soon, Grimmjow . Come visit again."

She turns and runs inside, dashing her sleeve against her eyes briefly before Chizuru catches on. ' _ Maybe Ichigo and Rukia _ _were correct,_ ' she thinks with a sigh. _'_ _ Maybe Ulquiorra really did just use me.' _

From behind a tree,  Ulquiorra drinks in the sight of  Orihime as she opens the door and re-enters the coffee shop mere feet from him. This is what he has been reduced to; skulking in front of windows, hiding behind shrubbery, just to catch a gli mpse of her. _ Pathetic. _

He is feels much better after seeing her, although he is also irritated that it was so easy for someone like  Grimmjow  to gain access to her, especially after his conversation with Kurosaki. ' _So much for police protection,_ '   he snorts to himself, allowing one last look at h er fiery hair through the fogged-up window. Sinking his cold hands into his pockets, he walks over to  Grimmjow . "Need a hand?" 

Grimmjow  just stares at him, a strangely sorrowful look in his eyes.  Avoiding them,  Ulquiorra  notices the earl grey and the  do ubleshot  of espresso. "Did you tell her I was here?" he asks, taking the tray and pulling out the  frappuccino .  Grimmjow  takes it, shaking his head.

"Here, Grumpy Cat, she gave us this too." Grimmjow hands him the bag containing the cookie. 

Ulquiorra slips it into h is pocket , ignoring the nickname . "Are we done here? I need to go somewhere," he murmurs, his gaze resting on the tea.

The taller man shrugs, giving up. "Do you want me to drive you?"

"No." Just the thought of letting  Grimmjow  drive him anywhere else has a cold sweat breaking  on  Ulquiorra's  skin. "Thank you, but no. Good night. I will see you tomorrow." 

He waits until the Jaguar's taillights speed away, then flags down a taxi. "Aoyama Cemetery, please," he tells the driver, setting the drinks down on the seat beside him.

"I can't believe I forgot it's my brother's birthday."  Orihime  says despondently to Chizuru, as they lock the doors. "I'll have to grab oranges from the convenience store and run to the cemetery." She is frustrated with herself; having been distracted by th e thoughts of  Ulquiorra , the date had just slipped her mind. 

This past week has been an emotional rollercoaster for her; after the night she spent with him, and then the silence, and the thought that he may have had something to do with  Sora's  murder. Oh , and the fact that he shot a man who was trying to kill her.  This crush on him is getting to be a full-blown obsession, one that she does not want.

"But Hime-chan, it's 10:30 pm, way too late to go to the cemetery. It may not be safe,"  Chizuru points out, zipping up her parka against the cold.  She looks at the sky worriedly; the clouds look ominous as well. 

Orihime  shakes her head stubbornly. "It's my brother. Seven years, and I have never missed it yet," she declares. "I'm not about to start now." 

Chizuru tries to talk her out of it as they sprint to the late-night grocery, but Orihime will not be deterred. "Fine," Chizuru sighs finally. "But I'm coming with you. May I sleep over?" Orihime nods, touched by her friend's concern.

The pink-haired girl calls her mother on her cellphone outside while  Orihime heads into the store to get some fruit.  

The redhead goes to the fruit section, grabbing a bag of oranges, Sora’s favourite. On her way to the counter, she spots a shelf of superhero themed candies. She stares at it for a moment, remembering the story of  Ulquiorra’s  unnamed twin brother, and her heart twists. Without pausing to examine her own motives, she grabs the Batman package and throws it into her basket. 

Soon, the two girls are on the bus. "Are you sure you want to go to a cemetery at midnight,  Hime-chan?" Chizuru asks worriedly as thunder rumbles. 

"I have to, it's Sora's birthday." Orihime insists. "But really, you don't have to do come with me."

Chizuru sighs. "Hime -chan. It' s safer for you to go with someone else." She punches Orihime's arm playfully. "You get into too much trouble by yourself. You've been so gloomy lately too, since  Ichigo and his friends came by on Sunday. Did they say something to upset you? I had no idea he was a policeman until you told me."

Orihime regrets crying in the back room after Ichigo's visit on Sunday. In a weak moment, she had blurted out their friend's true occupation to Chizuru. However, the bespectacled girl truly has her best interests at heart, and Orihime cannot help but hug her. "No, it's fine, Chizu-chan," she says quietly. "I'm just coming to terms with something that is hard to accept." 

The smaller girl wraps her arm around Orihime's shoulders. "It'll get better, Hime-chan. I promise."    



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Bleach, batman and other brand names do not belong to me but to their respective owners. I am not making money from this.

XI.

 

"Here you go, brother, one Earl Grey. Your favourite. You're lucky. You normally only get this on your birthday and death anniversary." Ulquiorra places the tea on top of the marble grave next to him, perched on his brother's tomb. "I wasn't planning to come here at all today, but she made it. Didn't want to waste it, so here, enjoy. I think I told you about her last time." He pulls the collar of his coat up slightly, protecting himself against the sudden wind that has picked up.

"Yeah. I know. I'm an asshole," he mutters, kneeling to light a candle. "But it's really for her own safety."

The silence of the cemetery is soothing to Ulquiorra. He breathes in the chilly air, lost in his own thoughts. Absently, he digs into his pocket, pulling out the cookie from the pastry bag. Breaking it in half, he lays the bigger piece on the marble next to the tea.

"Butterscotch Macadamia. It's really good once you get past the chewing." He nibbles on his section slowly, letting the flavour unfold in his mouth. "The woman gave me this cookie the first time a few weeks back. Come to think of it, she also made the last cup of tea that I brought here."

He sits morosely in the dark, unwilling to go home. "I would rather be here anyway. I can still remember her in my bed, brother. Her scent is all over the apartment, no matter how much I clean it," Ulquiorra admits out loud. "Been sleeping on the couch since last Saturday. Anyway, I am meeting with Father tomorrow morning. My boss is acquiring Cifer Corp. Grandfather will be rolling in his grave to see the company pass out of the family. There is no way I would ever want to take over from Father, so I am glad Mr. Aizen is taking it. Father would be so furious. Rest assured, there will be no mention of you. I will not let you be a pawn, ever again." He lays a hand on the cold marble, trying to muster up more anticipation for the next day's events.

A movement catches his eye; a stray cat winding around the legs of an angel statue on another grave. The arching back and sulking face of the white cat remind him of Grimmjow, making him smirk slightly. Then he hears it, a conversation carried by the wind, headed in his direction.

Logically, he knows that ghosts cannot exist, but at this time of the night, there should be no people present at the cemetery. The wind picks up; large fat droplets start to fall from the sky. On the way over, the taxi driver had mentioned that the weather was going to turn, with strong winds and heavy rain, but Ulquiorra had not expected it to happen so quickly. Retreating further into the mausoleum, he stands in the corner behind the gates, not willing to be spotted by any passers-by.

In the back of his mind, Ulquiorra begrudgingly thanks his father, who spent a little extra on a covered mausoleum for his unnamed son; he suspects, however, that his father's purpose was to be able to hide the family name behind lockable doors, away from prying eyes. It is only visible, after all, when the doors are open, as they currently are. The weather turns into a downpour rather quickly, with the early winter sending sheets of rain through the cemetery.

There are surprised shrieks from the people talking, and he scurries behind a pillar as two girls walk into the mausoleum. He holds his silence, hoping they do not see him.

 

 

"Good thing we finished the offering at your brother's grave, Orihime. The rain is coming down hard." Chizuru says loudly to be heard over the downpour. "But why are we here? Didn't you want to make a run for the gates?"

"I wanted to pay my respects to the brother of my friend! Give me a minute, please," Orihime replies, drawing her hood off her head as they enter the mausoleum.

"Okay, but can we leave after this?" Chizuru yells back. "Good thing a candle's still lit here, otherwise we would have walked right past it."

Orihime nods, the strands of her hair tangling in her face, thanks to the strong winds. Her eyes fall on the name written across the marble, and the guttering flame of the candle in front of it. She digs into her purse, pulling out a black-and-blue Batman themed package of candies. Carefully, she lays it in front of the nameplate, getting down on her knees to bow.

Orihime spots the paper cup and half of a cookie on top of the tomb; recognizing them, her heart starts pounding. Ulquiorra was here, and recently. The wind picks up, blowing out the candle.

"Hime-chan! Oh my God, look!" Chizuru points to two glowing yellow eyes in the darkness before them, her hand flying to her mouth in terror. The eyes blink, and start moving closer. With a scream, Chizuru is out the door, dragging Orihime behind her.

The taller girl stumbles, falling backwards on the wet concrete, as her friend tugs at her arm desperately. "Get up, Hime, please!" Chizuru begs.

Orhime's eyes remain fixed on the open doorway; the downpour does not give her much visibility. Pushing the hood back over her head is futile; she is already soaked to the skin. Chizuru hooks her arms under Orihime's, helping her rise.

The redhead spots the owner of the yellow eyes; a cat slinks out of the doorway, following the covered part of the awning before scampering out of sight. "Chizuru, it's only a cat!" she exclaims at her friend, who is staring at the mausoleum with terrified eyes. "Nothing to be worried about."

The petite girl raises a trembling arm to point a finger at the doorway, her sleeve dripping wet. "G-g-g…,"she stammers, her eyes wide.

Orihime looks at her in concern, barely able to make out her face in the pouring rain. "What?"

"Ghost!" Chizuru screams, whirling around to escape.

Orihime can only see a white blur in the door, but she runs after her friend, adrenaline pounding through her system. The rain is now turning into a full-blown storm, complete with bolts of lightning and thunder. The wind lashes her hair against her face as she turns the corner, sprinting towards Chizuru's retreating figure. The other girl is a lot faster than Orihime gives her credit for, but she worries that Chizuru is not used to this cemetery and might get lost or hurt herself.

"Chizuru, wait!" she calls out, skidding into a crossroads of sorts, a circle of diverging pathways, surrounded by the towering tombstones. Only the rain greets Orihime here; she has no idea which way to go, or where she even came from. "Chizuru!" she calls again, more desperately. If anything happens to the other girl…

Someone large collides with her from behind, grabbing her by the waist and throwing her on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. With a squeak, she balances herself, but allows him to heft her through the rain into what looks like a garden shed. They make it into the shelter, the door slamming behind them.

"Please put me down, Ulquiorra," Orihime pleads, embarrassed. He lowers her to the ground, and crosses the room to put some distance between them.

"How did you know it was me?" he asks, turning his face to look out the window.

She studies him for a moment, feeling her throat constrict at the sight of him. Four days since she last saw him, and not a single word or message from him. But she figures that he must have his reasons, and what Ichigo and the others told her may have complicated things. Seeing him again, though, loosens the tightness in her chest that she wasn't aware of.

"I just knew," Orihime admits shyly, turning to unzip her soaked coat. "I saw the tea and cookie at your brother's grave, and the candle was still lit so you couldn't be too far."

His hands curl into fists; when she meets his eyes, Orihime realizes that Ulquiorra is angry.

"Tell me what you are doing here, woman." His voice reaches her; she can hear the barely-leashed fury and it makes her take a step back. "In a cemetery, alone, in the middle of the night, during a storm."

Orihime lowers her gaze, feeling like a punished child. "It was Sora's birthday. I had forgotten it was today, or I would have come before work."

 

 

And there it is, the elephant in the room, the ghost of her brother hanging between them. Ulquiorra rakes his fingers through his dripping hair in frustration. The woman's naivete knows no bounds. Unbidden, the memory of her bowing to his brother's grave comes to mind. It makes him angrier, that she makes him feel things he is not ready for.

"Ulquiorra," she breathes, "did you steal my brother's files?"

The air is heavy with tension, but it feels like there is nobody else in the world right now; just the two of them, trapped in this room by something as mundane as water falling from the heavens. He is helpless against the pull, raising a hand to trace the curve of her jaw, her warm skin under his cold fingers.

Her grey eyes meet his. In them, he sees remorse and hunger slowly flaring into life. Her pulse is thundering under his fingertips, kicking his own heartbeat into overdrive. ' _T_ _his will not do_ ,' he tells himself sternly. He must not give in to the madness.

"Yes," Ulquiorra tells her honestly, meeting her gaze. "But it's got nothing to do with you." She closes her eyes, looking as if she might cry. Her forehead crumples, and he braces himself for her tears. It would be so easy now to break her, to make her hate him, before anything starts. ' _Too late,_ ' the voice in his head taunts.

When she reopens her eyes though, the trust in them makes him feel even worse. "It's alright, Ulquiorra. You must have needed them badly. I just wish... you should have just asked me. I would have given them to you." She whispers the words, drawing a deep, shuddering breath. He can feel her gather her emotions around her like a cloak, before she breaks their gaze.

"Don't worry about me, Ulquiorra. It was just se- I mean, I know you weren't making any commitments with what happened last week." Orihime smiles faintly, and a little cynically, lowering her eyes. "Please know, I have no expectations from you. So I hope you don't feel burdened by what we did." Orihime sniffles, letting out a deprecating laugh. "Oh, I don't know why my nose won't stop running, that's why my eyes are so watery. Look at the time, I need to go find Chizuru- Oh my goodness, I forgot about Chizuru! She must be so scared right now." She pulls away from his touch; his skin mourns the loss of her. "I- I'm sorry."

It's the little bow she does that makes him lose his temper. The woman is apologizing to him as if she owes him anything. He is so angry that she values herself so little, that all she does is give and give. Ulquiorra stalks her, a dangerous glint in his eye. Orihime backs away until she has nowhere to run.

"Little fool, do you think an apology will make everything alright? Why are you apologizing to me?" Ulquiorra growls, slamming his fist into the wood beside her head. He is the Cuatro Espada, after all, and not some stray animal that she can just tame at will. Fear is the point that he needs to drive across, to make her understand that the world is not her friend, and neither is he. She flinches, seeing the barely leashed violence in his eyes for the first time.

"Ulquiorra?" her lips form around his name but no sound comes out.

"Good," he growls out, grabbing her jaw with tight fingers. "Be afraid of me." Ulquiorra wants to teach her a lesson, to show her what her recklessness could have cost her. Her chest heaves as she stares at him, wide-eyed. He runs his thumb roughly over her lower lip, parting her soft lips as his eyes roam her face hungrily. He can feel her shallow breaths on his finger, leaning in until he can graze her cheek with his nose, inhaling the scent of vanilla and rain and woman.

Her tongue flicks over his fingertip and her lips close around his thumb, copying his movement from last week. He narrows his eyes at her, aroused by her teasing.

"Do you think you will always be safe in your little bubble, woman?" Ulquiorra sneers, spearing his fingers into her hair. He tugs her head back, exposing the soft skin of her neck, eliciting a breathless whimper. "Do you think you are so invincible, that you dare go into dark places and taunt the monsters there?"

He pulls his hand from her jaw, trailing his fingers down slightly to rest around her throat. Her pulse is galloping madly under the incredibly soft skin; Ulquiorra marks the spot with his lips. Her broken cry spurs him to further heights, and he releases her hair to slide his hand around her waist, dragging her against him.

"As delicious as you are ...," he mutters roughly against her neck, raking his teeth up the soft shell of her ear. "Orihime, you do not know what you do to a demon like me. You taste like salvation, but you make me want to taint you, to corrupt you until all you can think of is my name." He feels the quiver that courses through her at his words.

She closes her eyes, turning her face to the side, her chest heaving. "Look at me, woman," Ulquiorra demands, pushing her soaked jacket off her shoulders. "Look at the monster you're dealing with." She stands before him, shivering in her damp little button-down shirt and skirt, her blazing hair darkened by the rain, her arms stiff.

A tear runs slowly down her cheek, as she keeps her face averted. Ulquiorra feels his stomach clench at the sight of it, faltering. But how will she learn to keep out of danger if she does not understand?

Hardening his resolve, he continues his assault, pressing hot kisses on her bared throat, searching for more skin through her rain-scented locks with his lips. Yanking her shirt out of the waistband of her skirt, he slides his hand underneath, pressing his palm against the small of her back so she is forced against him. The predator in him is not satisfied by the soft cry that escapes her lips.

' _More,'_  his body tells him, ' _touch her and consume her and take her until she learns her lesson.'_ He slips a fingertip inside the taut garter of her bra, getting ready to unhook it.

She pushes against his chest ineffectually, but he can tell she is reacting to his touch by the flush on her cheeks and the shiver that runs through her. It would be so easy to break her now. With his other hand, he grabs the hem of her skirt, raising it slowly. Her hand falls to grip his wrist, pushing it down.

"P-please, Ulquiorra," her lips tremble while she pleads, eyes squeezed shut and body frozen. "N-not like this." Her tears drip down her face, landing in little searing splashes on his cheeks. Ulquiorra stops, realizing what he was about to do.

This would make him no better than Mr. Aizen.

Disgusted with himself, he releases her, stepping away from her completely. She sinks to the ground on knees that have suddenly given out, burying her face in her hands.

Picking up the jacket on the ground, Ulquiorra looks at her trembling figure, feeling lower than he has ever felt around her. Wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, he is careful not to touch her. He turns towards the door, shoving his hands into his pockets. He is horrified by what he almost did to her. "Woman," he mutters, feeling lower than a worm, once her sobs have subsided. "You should go."

"Wait," she hiccups, wiping her eyes with the heel of a hand. "Wait, Ulquiorra." Her other hand grabs at his, missing it. He looks behind him, pausing.

"You're not a demon. You're not." Orihime insists, eyes flooding with tears. He cannot believe his ears. Even now, she is defending him from himself. She rises awkwardly to her feet, the jacket falling to the ground again, tears still dripping steadily down her cheeks. Ulquiorra watches with surprise and a hot feeling in his gut that he cannot name, as she approaches him, her eyes fixed on his.

Bunching her tiny hand into a fist, she draws back and hits him hard in the chest, bursting into fresh sobs. "Don't you ever say that you're a monster, Ulquiorra. I'll fight you if I have to." She draws her fist back again, but he catches it with his hand, pulling her into his arms wordlessly. He knows it probably hurt her a lot more than it did him. She pokes him in the back twice, before wrapping her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder.

He holds her as she cries for him, cradling her head gently now. Her shoulders are shaking with the force of her sobs. Ulquiorra feels as though the ground has shifted, and he is out of his depths with this woman. She grips the back of his coat tightly, unwilling to let go. A quiet settles over both of them.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. He cannot tell anymore. He closes his eyes, memorizing the scent of her hair and the perfect fit of her in his arms. Wistfully, he wishes that he could freeze this one perfect moment and never have to let go. But when she draws away, he releases her easily.

She averts her eyes, sniffling. "I must look like a mess right now," Orihime mutters self-consciously."You seem to catch me at my worst, Ulquiorra." She wipes her cheeks with her knuckles. His hands follow hers, cupping her face so he can catch any stray tears with his thumbs.

"No," Ulquiorra contradicts her, his green gaze transfixed on her. She looks exquisite, he thinks. She has never looked more beautiful to him. The words try to escape him, but he holds them in. Leaning forward, he gives her a gentle kiss, trying to erase the ugliness of his earlier actions.

"Woman," he breathes against her lips. "It is too dangerous for you to be around me."

He can tell by the look in her eyes that she does not understand. Ulquiorra sighs, leaning his forehead against hers. "I killed a man last week for daring to raise a gun against you," he tells her. "And I would do it again, in a heartbeat. But one day you'll get caught in the crossfire. It is not safe for you to be around me."

"No, I can protect my-" she insists, but he silences her with another kiss.

 

 

"Orihime." His eyes are gentle, and his words are final. Orihime knows what he is going to say next, and covers his mouth with her fingers, shaking her head vehemently. Ulquiorra pulls her wrists down patiently. "Listen. You must stay away from me, and from anything to do with Mr. Aizen. Do this for me." He wipes away the tears streaming down her face.

"For how long?"she asks, her voice small.

"Until you forget about me," he tells her, kissing her forehead.

'No,' she thinks, inhaling his scent of rain and woods and male, imprinting the feel of him under her fingertips, 'I will never forget you.'

He waits patiently for her to answer. Orihime forces herself to nod, gripping his arms. Ulquiorra helps her rise to her feet, retrieving her coat. She tries to memorize his features in the dim light; the slope of his nose, the way his hair feels under her fingertips, the dark green of his eyes.

"Silly woman," he tells her affectionately, zipping up her coat. "Don't ever go to cemeteries in the middle of the night again, okay?"

"Ulquiorra, I love you." The words burst out of her, unbidden. Orihime freezes, eyes wide. His hands go still for a moment, then he shakes his head, his eyes sorrowful. His arms go around her again, holding her tight.

"Orihime," Ulquiorra murmurs against her ear. "Do not give those words to me. Save them for someone who deserves you. Have a good life, woman."

He pulls away, leaving her bereft and missing his warmth already. Then he cocks his head, as if listening to something. "The rain is letting up. I must leave now. Do not take any more unnecessary risks, okay?" Pressing one last, gentle kiss to her cheek, he heads off, exiting the back door of the cabin.

It is a struggle to breathe, after the door closes behind him. She feels the gnawing emptiness in her chest. Her knees give out again. With trembling fingers, she pulls her jacket on from behind her, fighting for her next breath. "Stop," she says weakly to herself. "Stop crying."

The front door opens, and a flashlight shines abruptly in her face. She blinks, disoriented, dashing her tears away with the back of her hand.

"Hey! Are you okay?" The man puts down the light, and Orihime focuses on his face.

"I- ichigo?" Surprised, Orihime stares at the shock of orange hair that appears after the man yanks off his hood. She wipes her eyes hastily with the sleeves of her coat.

He pulls out a radio, pressing a button. "Hey guys, I found her. Meet us at the gates." He turns back to face her, smiling reassuringly. "Hime, Chizuru called me when she got separated from you, and I brought my partner Ishida along. Come, we'll give you girls a ride home." He grabs her wrist, guiding her out of the cabin.

In the light, he sees her disheveled state, and her reddened eyes. Giving her a concerned look, he pauses. "Are you alright, Orihime? Did... something happen? Did you see anyone?"

Orihime realizes the state that she is in, and frantically tries to straighten her clothing. "Oh, no, I just got messed up running through the rain. It was pretty scary," she tells him, pulling the hood of her coat over her head as she forces a note of lightness into her tremulous voice. "Is Chizuru alright?"

"Yes," Ichigo responds, watching her fidget with the zipper of her coat nervously.

"Sorry to be such a bother, Ichigo," she blurts out, walking ahead of him. He observes her for a moment, noting the visible trembling of her hands.

"It's alright, Orihime. I am a policeman, after all. Protect and serve and all that. Are you sure you're okay?" Pulling the muffler off his neck, he tucks it into her hands. "Rukia would kill me if anything happened to you."

"Thank you, I'm really fine. I promise, no need to worry. Rukia's your girlfriend, right?" Orihime pauses, slipping it around her neck gratefully. "But... I just met her. That's really nice of her."

Ichigo smiles, popping open an umbrella. "Yeah, Rukia's awesome like that. That's why she's a district attorney. She wants to protect everyone, make sure everyone's safe. Come on, they're waiting for us."

The look on his face is so proud and awed that it sends a small pang of envy through Orihime. "You must love her very much," she says, smiling. He nods, grinning from ear to ear.

 

 

Ulquiorra watches the policeman lead the girl away, and frowns at the way he has her smiling. Leaning his head against the pillar, he closes his eyes, listening to her voice drift further and further away.

...

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for following so far! Feel free to let me know what you think. Cheers :D


	12. Chapter 12

XII. 

 

* * *

The tinkling of the bell on the door has a sleepy-eyed Orihime looking up from the counter, a smile on her face. "Good morning- Ichigo?"

The red-haired man bursts in, urgency written on his face. "Orihime, do you have a spare apron?" he demands, sprinting to the counter area.

"What? Oh, yes. Why do you need it?" Orihime yawns. She has not yet recovered from her cemetery adventure from the previous night. In fact, the rest of the night was spent reflecting on her future relationship with Ulquiorra, and she has not yet slept. However, Orihime's guilty conscience had her take Chizuru's early morning shift to make up for all the trouble she caused.

Chad pokes his head out from the backroom. "You need help, Hime-chan?" he asks. Ichigo pushes past him to the back room, the two-way door swinging wildly.

' _What is going on?'_  Orihime wonders, her brow wrinkling in confusion.

The front door bell jangles again, calling her attention. "Good morning, welcome to Cafe-" Her voice trails off again as the blonde lady from the night at the museum pushes inside. The rest of the woman's face is obscured by the high collar of an expensive-looking white trench coat, but it is definitely Tier Harribel.

"Orihime," she greets, holding the door open. Orihime does not reply. More people pour in: a slender man in a lab coat she does not recognize, a scowling teenage girl in a skimpy outfit that she does, and a tall dark-haired man whose name she cannot recall right now. Last to enter is Mr. Aizen, dressed impeccably in his usual tailored suit. Orihime feels panic claw at her insides.

He meets her eyes with a big smile. "Hello, Orihime!"

Orihime feels the walls close in, and the familiar tightness start around her chest. Thankfully, she gets shoved out of the way by Chad and Ichigo, now dressed in the cafe uniform.

"Good morning, customer!" Ichigo greets with a wide smile. "Oh, Mr. Aizen." The languid brown eyes rest on him for a moment and the boss breaks into a smirk. A flash of memory has Orihime remembering how Mr. Aizen had kissed her when she was drunk, and nausea roils in her stomach.

"We met at Orihime's apartment, remember? What can we do for you this morning?" Ichigo smiles innocently. Chad does not say anything, but is poker-faced as usual. She busies herself wiping down the espresso machine, relieved for her reprieve but dreading the coming conversation.

Aizen moves to the cluster of comfy chairs in the corner, with Harribel and the smaller girl placing the order for the boss.

"An espresso con panna with three shots, and a hazelnut biscotti," Chad calls to her, helping Ichigo punch it into the cash register. Orihime nods, her thoughts whirling as she goes into auto pilot, pulling the shots and topping the drink with whipped cream. Ichigo stands next to her, placing the plate of biscotti on a tray.

"I can serve it," the police man murmurs to her in a low voice. "You don't have to deal with him."

"No, I should do it," Orihime insists through numbed lips, taking the tray from him. Although she is afraid of Mr. Aizen, she has some questions to ask him. Ichigo grabs a rag from Chad, and trails after her.

She exchanges nods with Tier and the tall man whose name she finally remembers as Coyote. The shorter girl snubs her greeting. The three of them sit at the surrounding tables, obviously keeping a perimeter around Mr. Aizen and the pink-haired man.

"Ah, Orihime, dear girl, come here." The beaming Mr. Aizen motions her over with a wave of his hand. She forces her unwilling legs to carry her over, thankful that she can feel Ichigo close by. She unloads her tray on the table in front of him, but the older man grabs her wrist before she can escape. "Wait, Orihime. I came to check on you, after last week's incident." He forces her to sit down at the available chair, and smiles at Ichigo. "You, boy, we will borrow your coworker for a few minutes. Please let her take a break. Tell him, Orihime."

Orihime turns to look at Ichigo, forcing a smile. "I'll be fine, Ichigo. I'll be back in five minutes." The policeman nods, and decides to wipe down all the tables nearby so that he can be near her in case anything happens.

"Orihime, how are you feeling? Last week's event must have been quite shocking for you. I apologize for not coming sooner, but I brought my own doctor to check on you in case you needed it." Mr. Aizen croons, his eyes dripping fake concern as he gestures towards the pink-haired man. "This is Dr. Szayel Aporro Granz, my Octava."

She does not know where she gets the nerve to fake her usual sunny smile, even as her skin crawls at Mr. Aizen's touch. "I'm fine, Mr. Aizen. Thank you. Will there be anything else?"

His fingers tighten around her wrist, drawing her closer so he can whisper into her ear, "I insist, dear Orihime. That deranged man was fixated on me and you could have been hurt." She pulls away abruptly, nausea swirling in her stomach. This man had her brother killed. What is his game with her? "Dr. Granz will give you a complete checkup."

"No, please do not worry about it, Mr. Aizen," Orihime says firmly, rising to her feet so she is out of his reach. "I am not hurt in any way. I am not as fragile as I seem." Her words bring a smile to his face, one that she does not like.

"It seems so," Mr. Aizen muses, stroking his chin.

"But…," she begins, hoping to get more information for Ichigo. "Who was that man who shot at us? Luppi?"

His smile fades, and his eyes sharpen. "Where did you hear that name? Don't you worry your pretty little head about him, dear girl. He was just a disgruntled ex-employee who had a bone to pick with me. It's all been taken care of."

The door chimes signal more people arriving. Orihime's face turns automatically to the door as a wary Grimmjow and a dispassionate Ulquiorra stride in. Grimmjow's eyes flick to Ichigo, who is scrubbing a tabletop nearby to a mirror shine, but he does not say anything to give him away.

"Good morning, Mr. Aizen, and Hime-chan," he mutters, adjusting his sling self-consciously.

"Oh, hello Grimmjow and Ulquiorra," Orihime chirps, remembering Ulquiorra's warning from the night before. She keeps her eyes averted but her tone friendly. "How's the arm, Grimmjow? And nice suit, Ulquiorra."

"Better now," Grimmjow responds, his eyes going between the girl and the dark-haired man beside him. Ulquiorra looks devastatingly sexy in a dark suit, his hair neatly parted in a classic businessman side-part. She grits her teeth, trying not to react to his proximity, and bows in Mr. Aizen's direction, grabbing her tray. "Have a great day, Mr. Aizen."

 

Ulquiorra sighs inwardly as Orihime pushes past him, cheeks ablaze. It has not been eight hours since he warned her to stay away from Mr. Aizen, who is carefully observing both of them. However, he is proud of the way she ignores him, her eyes not even straying in his direction.

"Good morning, Mr. Aizen," he murmurs in his monotone, pointedly ignoring the girl.

"Well, Ulquiorra, is there something you wish to say to our friend?" The boss watches them with unholy glee in his eyes.

"No, nothing in particular." Ulquiorra keeps his tone bored, because he knows Mr. Aizen will pounce on the tiniest detail. He is certain that the boss manipulated this situation to see how they would react to each other. The policeman is here too, pretending to be an employee. They must be pretty desperate to catch Mr. Aizen to do this head-on, but Ulquiorra doesn't care, he knows that he can run interference if needed.

"We should head out soon, since our meeting with Cifer Corp is at 8:00. Wouldn't want to be late, right?" Mr. Aizen drinks the rest of his coffee, and wipes his mouth on the napkin. "That was excellent, Orihime. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you need anything."

The girl bows, the long red pigtails trailing over her shoulders, almost touching the ground. Tier flashes him a questioning look, which Ulquiorra shrugs off, stalking out the door after the boss.

 

As soon as the doors close behind them, Orihime straightens, her hands clenched into fists. Ichigo immediately comes over. "Are you okay? Did Aizen say anything to you?"

She stares down, unfamiliar fury coursing through her veins. "He cannot do this," Orihime seethes. "Mr. Aizen cannot just walk around manipulating people as if we were all his pawns. If what you say is true, Ichigo, then how can he act like nothing is wrong? How can he think that the truth would never come out? We need to stop that man."

"Orihime, don't do anything to Aizen," Ichigo tells her sternly, dragging her to the back room with an apologetic glance to Chad. "Leave it to us. We're the authorities. Just try to stay away from him and the Arrancars."

"How?" In a rare show of temper, she snaps, "Today, for example, he came here. " She is sick and tired of people telling her to stay away from Mr. Aizen. "I ran into him by accident at the museum. It's almost like fate or bad luck. I don't think I can hide from him, not with the resources he has. I need to stop him, for Sora's sake."

"Have you spoken to Cifer about your brother's files? Unfortunately, we have no evidence of him breaking into your storage." Ichigo asks her.

Orihime's mind goes back to the blank look on Ulquiorra's face as she had pushed past him earlier. Somehow his indifference hurts more than if he had been cruel, considering that less than ten hours ago, he was touching her. She tamps down the fresh surge of pain, choosing to focus on Mr. Aizen and Ichigo. "Yes. He has them."

The policeman runs his hand over his jaw, thinking. Orihime scowls at him. "He is not going to betray me."

Ichigo raises troubled eyes to hers. "We cannot rely on just your word, Orihime. Do you have anything to guarantee that?"

She falls silent, leaning against the desk. Her hands grip the edge tightly, nails digging into the wood, remembering how Ulquiorra had ended things last night. Was it truly possible that she was mistaken about him?

Mr. Aizen may be dangling Ulquiorra's revenge against his father over his head. Orihime does not know if she can compete against that, knowing how long he has waited for this. Frustrated, she heads to the doorway, telling him over her shoulder, "Let me know if there is anything else I can do. I need to go help Chad now." She pushes through the door, leaving Ichigo in the back room. If they won't let her help take Mr. Aizen, she will find her own way.

 

* * *

 

The ride to the Cifer Corporation building is short, only three minutes away by car. This is how Ulquiorra found the coffee shop in the first place, killing time there when Mr. Aizen had his weekly meetings with the late Nnoitra every Tuesday.

Nnoitra's erstwhile assistant, Tesla, meets them in the lobby. "Good morning, Mr. Aizen! Mr. Cifer!" he greets enthusiastically. Ulquiorra has to stop himself from reacting to the hated name. Grimmjow and Szayel Aporro Granz stay behind

Mr. Aizen smirks at him as they step into the elevator. "Well, Ulquiorra, how does it feel to be confronting your father? I bet you didn't sleep at all," he comments as the doors close.

Ulquiorra keeps his gaze down, remembering the look in Orihime's eyes as he walked away the previous night. "No, Mr. Aizen." He feels a rare bout of nervousness at his upcoming confrontation with his father, and slides his cold hands into his pockets. Meetings with his father always bring out the child in him, every single time.

A lifetime of memories floods his mind; being slapped across the face by his father for crying over his mother's death at age eight; an argument with his father over his brother's care at age ten; another argument with his father at fifteen about university majors. His father is an expert manipulator, and knows exactly how to push his buttons every single time. Ulquiorra worries that he will lose control again today.

The boss faces him, his brown eyes scanning Ulquiorra's pale face carefully. "Listen, Ulquiorra, the name of the company is yours: Cifer Corp. You have every right to be here, as my Cuatro, and as Ulquiorra Cifer," he tells the younger man. "Will you be able to act in that capacity?" There is an underlying threat in the words of the boss, that if Ulquiorra messes this up, there will be hell to pay.

Ulquiorra looks at him warily, nodding. "Yes, Mr. Aizen."

"Excellent. Do not disappoint me, Ulquiorra. After all, you of all people should know what happens to Espada who fall out of my favor." The boss breaks into a smile, turning to Tier. "I suppose we have to start recruiting soon to fill up the vacancies." The doors open, and they all step out. Mr. Aizen gives him an aloof smile. "Ready to take down your old man?"

Ulquiorra meets his eyes, letting the familiar rage at his father bolster his defenses. "Yes, Mr. Aizen." The others file past them, allowing them a few moments to get ready.

"You know," the boss glances sideways at him, "I really did think for a moment that you wavered because of little miss Orihime. I'm glad you knew better than to let her disrupt your focus." He claps him on the back. "And now we will get your revenge. Glad to know I can still trust you, Ulquiorra."

Ulquiorra nods, meeting the brown gaze of his boss seriously. He has to remain focused. He must not lose his temper in front of his father.

"Gentlemen," Tier interrupts, turning on her black designer heels to face them. "It's time."

The large black doors to the Cifer Corp's Presidential suite stand before them, the dark wood polished to a mirror shine. As far back as Ulquiorra remembers, these are the doors that have always separated him and his father. Starrk opens them slowly, revealing the plush carpeting and tasteful wood panelling.

The Las Noches group enters the spacious room, where quiet secretaries putter about, preparing for the meeting. Ulquiorra's eyes fall on the old man seated at the far end of the conference table, talking to his vice-president.

The old man rises to his feet, scowling. "Aizen. Here to feast on the remains of my company, you vulture?" First shots are fired. Ulquiorra's gaze strays to Mr. Aizen to see how he counters this. The gang boss smiles and bows; the rest of their group follows suit. Somehow the bow is a mockery of the respect it is supposed to portray, and the glint in Mr. Aizen's eyes confirms it.

They are seated directly across the Cifer group, and the executives start their negotiations. Ulquiorra takes the time to study his father. It has been a little over a month since that time in the elevator, but now he sees how much his father has aged in the morning light streaming in from the windows.

Sadao Cifer is what comes to mind when one thinks of Japanese businessman. Grey-haired, serious, and distinguished, bred to be exactly who he is: the President of a famous multi-national corporation worth billions of dollars. Ulquiorra reflects that his own life has been shaped around the business, and it has always come first.  _As a father..._  he has to laugh at that. Sadao Cifer has never been a father.

And yet, looking at the angry, defeated man across the room, Ulquiorra does not feel the satisfaction that he thought he would. He does not even feel the cold fury on behalf of his dead brother; all that remains is a polite disgust, hollow triumph and faint traces of pity.

Tier is merciless, of course, effortlessly pushing the negotiations as Mr. Aizen looks on in approval. The other team has no choice but to give in; even they know they are not in a position to make demands.

 

In two hours, Mr. Aizen calls for a break. The attendants rush in to refill coffee and water and provide fresh pens and napkins for those who need it.

Mr. Aizen follows Ulquiorra onto the balcony overlooking Tokyo. "Well, what do you think?" he asks, sipping coffee from a paper cup. Ulquiorra looks at the gathering clouds, and then lets his gaze fall on Las Noches tower in the distance.

"I think... he will try something. He always does, especially when he is this desperate." Ulquiorra stands by the railing, the early winter wind whipping against his face.

"Mmm." Mr. Aizen takes another drink of his coffee, standing next to him. "I bet it feels good, witnessing his fall. You've waited a long time for this."

Ulquiorra nods quietly, watching the people scurry about on the street below. He cannot shake the apprehension he feels, knowing his father.

Mr. Aizen finishes, draining the paper cup and tossing it in the garbage. "Come on, let's head back inside."

 

The old man takes the floor once the meeting resumes. "I have one condition left," he snarls, rising to his feet.

"Go ahead, President," Mr. Aizen says, leaning back in his chair.

With a glare that drips icicles, Sadao Cifer announces, "My son must be named the interim President, for a period of two years. And in those two years, he must fulfill all social and corporate commitments and obligations as the head of Cifer Corp. You can do whatever you want with the company after that. But it has to appear as if the heir of Cifer Corp is taking over the reins from me."

"No." Ulquiorra speaks for the first time at this meeting, his hand balling into a fist on the table. "I refuse." At his father's words, he feels like he is reduced to a child again, throwing a tantrum. Anger courses through him and he has to fight to retake control.

"And if we say no, what will you do?" Mr. Aizen asks smoothly, placing a hand on Ulquiorra's shoulder. The president's eyes narrow.

"Then I will destroy the company myself, bit by bit, before I would let you lay your hands on it. Unlike most companies, I do not have to answer to a board of directors." The Cifer Corp executives stare at him in shock, not expecting this. The determination in the old man's eyes has Mr. Aizen lifting a brow and turning to face Ulquiorra.

He glares at his boss, feeling the room close in.

"Ulquiorra, a word," Mr. Aizen says, rising to his feet. Ulquiorra follows him into the adjoining office. The door closes behind them, before he speaks.

"I will not do it." Ulquiorra states, feeling a surge of panic eating away at his reserve. Mr. Aizen does not say anything, merely waiting for him to continue. "I will not take over the company. This is exactly what my father wants, and I will not take his place."

"You do realize we are discussing billions of dollars right now, Ulquiorra," Mr. Aizen points out. "Most people would be glad to become a President of a multimillion-dollar corporation. After all, even after the stocks have dropped, they are still one of the top companies in the country. And your father is about to hand over your birthright. Is that not what you wanted?"

"No, this is what he wanted from the start...," Ulquiorra begins, but he cuts himself off, realizing with a sinking feeling that Mr. Aizen has already made up his mind to agree. "Is there any point to my refusal?" he asks tonelessly, bowing his head in defeat. He is merely a puppet, after all, helpless in the strings of Mr. Aizen and his father. He should have known better than to think that Mr. Aizen actually helped him out of the goodness of his heart.

The boss studies him for a moment, tapping his forefinger on his lips. "No, not really. Since this is a choice between your pride and a few billion dollars. But cheer up; think of it as a promotion. You're the first one to ever get promoted out of the Espada. And frankly, I am happy that it is you. There is no question of your loyalty to me and to Las Noches, and with your business and finance degree, you will do a great job once we have acquired them."

The tone of Mr. Aizen's voice indicates that this conversation is over. Ulquiorra follows the boss back into the conference room, resentment curdling in him when he meets his father's triumphant gaze. Averting his eyes, he gets back to his seat.

 

* * *

 

The meeting flows smoothly after that. It is agreed by both parties that Ulquiorra Cifer and Sousuke Aizen hold a joint press conference a week from today to announce the new President. Sadao Cifer agrees to retire quietly out of the public eye. Ulquiorra wants to rail at the unfairness of it all, but will not give his father the satisfaction of seeing him so upset.

In the meantime, Ulquiorra must attend social functions and spend the rest of the month slowly being reintroduced into the top business circles as the heir and president of Cifer Corp.

He draws the line at spending time with the current President to learn the ropes; even Mr. Aizen knows better than to push that issue. The current executive assistant, Nemu Kurotsuchi, both parties agree, will become Ulquiorra's assistant until a replacement can be found.

The sun is setting when the contracts are drawn up to both parties' specifications. Ulquiorra is exhausted, both mentally and physically from lack of sleep, so when the contracts are carried over to him, he signs them quickly, affixing his seal next to Mr. Aizen's.

The closing formalities are finished without further delay; all the suit-clad executives bow to each other repeatedly, except for Mr. Aizen and Ulquiorra's father. With one last steely glare, the President of Cifer Corp leaves the room first.

Mr. Aizen pats him on the shoulder. "Congratulations on your new position, Mr. President. Come see me tomorrow morning at the headquarters. Say, around eleven?" Ulquiorra gazes at him wordlessly for a moment, then nods, looking away. Mr. Aizen heads out with a pleased smile. Coyote and Tier trail after him, closing the doors behind them.

 

Ulquiorra sits in the empty room, gazing out the window as the city lights up slowly in the dusk.

The doors open again, and Sadao Cifer hobbles in. They gaze at each other for a moment.

"So you got what you wanted. Congratulations," Ulquiorra mutters in his monotone, turning his head away to look out the window again.

"You filthy little- I do not want you touching my company at all," his father spits out, bracing a hand against the table. "I still don't. But it is for the company. This is the best way to keep it in the black, and to prevent all the investors from jumping ship. Believe me, bastard, if there was a way to keep from having you and that dog from the slums you call a boss touch it, I would grasp it with both hands. You are the lesser evil, unfortunately. But you're a Cifer."

Ulquiorra rises to his feet slowly. "After this whole debacle is over, I never want to see you again," he utters, contempt dripping from every word. "Leave the city, or the country, do whatever you want. I don't care. Just stay out of my sight."

"Or else what?" Sadao Cifer snorts, crossing his arms. "Don't even bother with the silly threats. I will gladly get out of your way. I know the company will be okay now, and that is all that matters to me. After all, you are dead to me."

"Now that you are out of pawns to use. Do you ever-" Ulquiorra is tired suddenly. The battle he was fighting against this man ended today and it is a hollow victory, one that has him wondering if it was all worth it.

"Do I ever what?" Sadao Cifer raises a grey eyebrow.

"My brother. Do you ever regret abandoning him?" The question leaves his mouth before he can stop it.  _Damn it._  Ulquiorra must be more tired than he thought.

"You abandoned him." The malice in the old man's eyes has his stomach churning. "Not me. I merely put him out of his misery. According to the hospital, he was in so much pain at the end, but he held out much longer than he should have, waiting for you." Sadao Cifer's lips twist into a sneer. "It's a case of the pot calling the kettle black, son. I would say have a good life, but I think in this case, I'll hold my tongue."

The old man pulls out the glittering C-shaped tie pin from his tie, and places it on the table in front of Ulquiorra. "Welcome to the family business, son." He smirks triumphantly and hobbles out the door. In the end, he got what he wanted.

Ulquiorra stares resentfully at the tie-pin, remembering how his father and grandfather had used it as a symbol of the Cifer Corp presidency. The green stones sparkle in the fluorescent lighting, and they were chosen because they match the green eyes of the Cifer men. They are the same colour as his unnamed brother's eyes, and he has to fight the urge to throw it out the window. For this pin, and the company it represents, his brother and mother were sacrificed. And now he has to wear it, and the chains it represents.

Abruptly he pushes away from the window, striding to the windows, to curb the roiling emotions in his chest right now. 'I need a drink,' he thinks, bracing his forehead against the cold glass. Unbidden, the thought of Orihime comes to mind; the scent of her, and the softness of her skin under his fingers. He closes his eyes, fighting the urge to go see her.

"No," he tells himself, turning to head out the door. He has a long week ahead of him, and no room for distractions.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII.**

 

 

 

"Good morning, Chief Superintendent Urahara!" Ichigo salutes smartly, his partner beside him echoing his movement.

"At ease," Chief Urahara grumbles, walking past them to hang his hat on the coat rack. He is legendary for not being a morning person, but Ichigo came prepared with a fresh cup of coffee. He hands the hot cup to the Chief, who gives him a grateful nod. "Any updates? It's been five days since your last contact with Cifer and Aizen. Do you think the civilian girl will still be of any use to our operation?"

Ishida clears his throat, glancing quickly at Ichigo. "We are trying to find out if she is still important in any way to Cifer. She may influence his actions; we just want to know how far he will go."

"We have reason to believe she may still be a target-" Ichigo interjects, interrupting Ishida. "He did threaten to come after her." Both Ishida and Chief Urahara stare at him for a long moment.

"We'll give it one last push, then," Chief Urahara mutters, draining the cup of coffee. "Find a way to get them together. Is she willing to assist us in retrieving the files from Cifer?"

Ichigo nods. "Miss Inoue has mentioned that she is willing to assist in any operations we may conduct against Aizen. However, she has a tendency of putting her own safety at risk. She may do this if she thinks she can find a way to get the files back. That would make her more of a liability than an advantage. Sir, I strongly oppose using her against Aizen."

"I would have to agree with Kurosaki's assessment of the situation. Aizen has already attempted to assault the civilian by intoxicating her. He may try again." Ishida strokes his chin thoughtfully. "However, she is probably our best tool against Aizen and Cifer."

The Chief scowls. "Well, how do you propose we approach this, then? Jinta and Ururu reported to me that Aizen is on the move, since Cifer stepped up to replace his father as President of Cifer Corp. If those two corporations merge, Aizen will be untouchable." Chief Urahara pounds his fist on his desk. "We need to act now."

A knock on the door interrupts them. Both junior officers rise to their feet. Chief Urahara presses a button on his desk intercom. "Who is it?"

"It is District Attorney Kuchiki," his assistant Tessai booms.

"Let her in," Chief Urahara sighs. "She's running late."

The door opens and the diminutive District Attorney strides in, authority radiating from every inch of her body. "Good morning, Chief Urahara. Gentlemen. My apologies for my tardiness." Ichigo to offers her his seat, and she takes it. Quickly, Ishida catches her up on the conversation so far.

"I have an idea," Rukia states, glancing at Chief Urahara. "My brother is having a charity gala for the rehabilitation of the Fukushima area. The reason for my lateness is that he informed me that Ulquiorra Cifer will be attending, and he wishes me to be present as well." She smirks at the tic in Ichigo's eye. "He is hoping Cifer and I get along well enough for me to break the engagement to Ichigo."

"Who can blame him?" Ishida snickers behind his hand. "New president of a multi-billion dollar corporation or broke government employee? It's not a stretch really. He only wants the best for his little sister."

"I am right here," Ichigo mutters, crossing his arms.

Rukia smiles at him. "Aww, Ichigo, are you pouting? Don't worry, I think I'll stick with you for a little bit longer, unless you annoy me too much."

Chief Urahara coughs, hiding his smile. "Anyway, what of it?"

"You want to do one last push to try to win over Cifer to our side, right?" Rukia smiles. "I can question him then. He can't really turn me away, being that I am Byakuya Kuchiki's sister."

"No," Ichigo scowls. "It is too dangerous, sending you in alone to meet with Ulquiorra."

"First of all, I am not asking," Rukia scowls, straightening up to her full height. "I do not take orders from you. Also, this is a Kuchiki event at the main estate. You of all people should know how tight security is there. And with all the VIPs present, not even a fly would get in without them knowing. It should be perfectly safe."

"I can attend this as well. My father received an invitation," Ishida comments, studying his fingernails. "On behalf of the Ishida Medical Institutes and Hospitals. You, unfortunately, may not. Aizen has seen your face."

"What about the girl? Can we ask her to do it?" Chief Urahara inquires. "You mentioned earlier that she has some sort of relationship with all of the suspects; this aside from the fact that her brother was killed because of them. If it is a safe environment, we can just wire her up and make her ask questions. They'd be more prone to respond to her, than to a complete stranger."

"You are correct, Chief. She would probably provoke a better response than I would. I should ask Orihime if she is fine with this, and Byakuya doesn't have a date. Being his date would also ensure that she has an extra layer of security." Rukia muses, the wheels in her head turning. "I've been going by the coffee shop on my lunch break to say hi to her. I can just ask her later when I go. She has not mentioned Cifer or Aizen at all, and she looks pretty haggard nowadays but I can try to see if she is willing to do this for us."

"I'll go with you," Ichigo mutters, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

"You? But you were against it," Ishida points out, eyeing him suspiciously.

Ichigo heaves a deep sigh. "I know, but if someone's going to tell her, it's better if I'm there."

Rukia smiles, getting to her feet. "Alright. It's set, then. Let me inform my brother of the change in the guest list. We can meet before the event to set up the security feeds. You can probably sit in the security command center, just so you are on-site."

"No, we will use the van," Ishida interjects, rising as well. "All our equipment is in there, and police-class, so we have better equipment."

Chief Urahara nods. "Fine, fine, just keep me posted on everything. Please, DA Kuchiki, thank Byakuya for his cooperation in this matter. Dismissed."

The three bow their heads to the Chief Superintendent and make their way out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ulquiorra had forgotten how tedious it was to be the next in line to the Cifer Corp presidency, spending all his days in the office to learn the ropes and his nights in a social whirl of charity galas, balls, dinners and fundraiser, Mr. Aizen by his side.

It is excruciating, considering most of the people he has had to deal with are either trash or idiots. The first formal dinner had been a disaster; Mr. Aizen had had to take him aside to explain that business dinners meant he had to make small talk.  _Bah, small talk._  He feels a tic in his eye just remembering the inanity of it all.

As the Cuatro he wasn't expected to add to the conversation, but as interim President of Cifer Corp, people will talk about mundane things such as weather or sports, and look at him expectantly. It is annoying.

He has to admit, the efficiency of the Cifer Corp staff is unparalleled. It was scarily quick how he had been set up in his father's office. By the morning after the meeting, the names on the door and on the directory had been changed to his. Even now, Ulquiorra wonders if he himself will be as easily replaced.

Coming home is still difficult; memories of the woman still haunt him. The one bonus of his new position is that dealing with people wears him out, mentally and physically. When Ulquiorra gets home, he goes straight to bed, and is sound asleep seconds after his head touches the pillow. But his dreams are full of Orihime Inoue, and he always wakes up lonely.

True to Tier's public relations skills, the society pages run feature after feature on him, singing praises about the Cifer Corp heir's overnight return from years of schooling abroad to take up his father's mantle. They also gush about his mentor Sosuke Aizen, and the formidable team the two companies will become if they merge.

It is Friday morning again, and he is seated at his new chair (Ulquiorra insisted that all the furniture be replaced), receiving his daily update from Nemu Kurotsuchi, his father's former assistant. Thankfully, she is not overly enthusiastic, and seems to be competent enough.

"The value of Cifer Corp stock has doubled overnight since the papers went to press," she announces tonelessly. "You are also turning up as the third most searched term on the Japanese internet websites for this week."

"What are number one and two?" Mr. Aizen asks curiously, sitting on the couch directly in front of the desk.

"Byakuya Kuchiki and the Fundraiser for Fukushima," Nemu replies, swiping her tablet with a red-tipped finger. Ulquiorra's eyes flick over to Mr. Aizen; Byakuya Kuchiki is a sore point with him. It is more of a one-sided rivalry, really, with the gang boss constantly competing against the Kuchiki Chairman, but Ulquiorra knows better than to mention that.

"Ah. That gala is coming up soon." Mr. Aizen stretches his arms over the back rest, planting his feet on the coffee table.

"The Fundraiser for Fukushima is going to be one of the biggest events of the year," Nemu adds, "Byakuya Kuchiki, as the Chairman for Kuchiki International, likes to keep the guest list limited and exclusive. The previous President Cifer was invited last year as well. The Kuchiki and Cifer families have always been on good terms."

"But not with me. Byakuya Kuchiki has an antiquated way of thinking, for someone so young. He still believes that nobles are superior to everyone," he states, although Ulquiorra can hear the irritation in his voice. "He has refused every proposal I have made towards doing business, as if I was not good enough. The man should have been born three hundred years ago."

"Also, the Kuchiki family has an unmarried daughter, the younger sister of Chairman Byakuya Kuchiki," the assistant enunciates, glancing at Ulquiorra over her tablet. "They have expressed interest in the possibility of a merger of sorts." Ulquiorra does not like the sound of that. His father, once upon a time, had brought up the possibility of an arranged marriage, and it had led to an explosive argument.

"It would be convenient, would it not, if you and the Kuchiki girl took a liking to each other?Have you RSVP'd for this event?" Mr. Aizen glances at Ulquiorra, a smile curling his lips. "Kuchiki can no longer look down upon me, now that you are here."

Ulquiorra stares out the window, his mask in place. Inside, he is seething. Marriage is not an option for him; he is too young for that. The image of a woman in a white dress pops into his head, her auburn curls peeking out from the bottom of the veil. No. He ruthlessly pushes that out of the mind, focusing on the current conversation.

"We sent our confirmation for the fundraiser as soon as the invitation arrived on Monday." The assistant glances up. "But we must leave soon for the press conference and announcement."

Mr. Aizen is pleased, his eyes gleaming in the fluorescent light. Really, there is not much difference between him and Sadao Cifer, Ulquiorra thinks. Either way, he is their puppet, dancing to their strings.

"And what of the previous president?" He inquires from Nemu. There is no way he is letting that old man set foot in this office again, unwanted presidency or not. The company, after all, was most important to Sadao Cifer.

"He will meet us at the conference room on the ground floor. I have purchased tickets for him to fly to London immediately afterwards. He has a home there, and will retire for the meantime." Ulquiorra rises to his feet to follow Nemu out the door.

The turmoil in his chest on his imminent meeting with his father is tempered only by the thought that he will never have to see the old man again after today. Mr. Aizen trails behind them, lost in thought.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"So, let me get this straight," Orihime asks over her shoulder, as she prepares drinks. "You want me to go to this gala, as your brother's date?"

Rukia steps back to avoid the customer grabbing the tray of drinks, and eases forward. "Yes, but it's a bit more complicated than that," she tells the auburn-haired girl.

"Three lattes and a cappucino to go!" Orihime calls, flashing an apologetic smile to Rukia. "Sorry, Rukia-chan and Ichigo, but we're really packed today. Can I talk to you about this later? I should be off by four."

"Sure," Ichigo agrees. "We can come back then." He notices a tall man eyeing Orihime, and his senses go on alert.

"Great! See you later. One Americano and one triple latte for Kensei!" Orihime waves at them, as another customer steps into view. "Here you go."

"Orihime Inoue?" the tall customer asks, taking his drink. Rukia pauses, grabbing Ichigo's sleeve to halt his exit.

The auburn-haired girl looks at the customer curiously, but her hands are still busy making drinks. "Yes? Can I help you?"

Ichigo takes stock of the man; tall with short-cropped white hair, muscular enough that he could be a hitman.

"Little Hime-chan," the man breaks into a dimpled smile. "I don't know if you remember me, I'm Kensei Muguruma. I used to work with Sora. I met you a few times when he brought you to the tv station."

"Mr. Mu-muguruma?" Orihime blinks up at him, and breaks into a grin. "Kensei?" Rukia relaxes her grip on Ichigo's arm, and they move quietly to the side.

"Hime-chan, it really is you. Wait, let me call Shu." The man turns to call his companion at the table, a dark-haired man in a suit with a similar body type. "Shuuhei, look who it is over here!"

Orihime finishes out the round of drinks as the other man approaches, handing them off to the line of customers. "Mr. Hisagi!" she squeaks, her face breaking into a huge grin of recognition.

"Now, Hime-chan, you know I've always asked you to call me Big Brother, or Shuuhei as well," the dark-haired man says gravely, frowning slightly. "How have you been?"

Orihime's eyes fill with unshed tears. "It is really good to see you, Shuuhei. I have not seen you in-"

"Seven years," he finishes. "You're all grown up." They pause in silence, looking at each other awkwardly.

A movement from Rukia has Orihime remembering where she is, and she smiles weakly. "Rukia and Ichigo, please meet Mr. Muguruma and Mr. Hisagi, former colleagues of my brother Sora. These are Rukia and Ichigo, who -um- work nearby." Orihime is flustered by the crowd of familiar faces. "Let me finish off these drinks. It is now 3:55 PM and I'll be off in five minutes, okay? I'll come to your table then."

Rukia and Ichigo shake hands with the two men.

"Come join us!" Mr. Hisagi offers as they move to a larger table, his eyes still watching the girl behind the counter.

"Sure," Ichigo looks at Rukia, who nods. They all sit down at a booth in the corner.

"You are District Attorney Kuchiki, am I right?" Mr. Muguruma announces, with an easy grin.

Rukia crosses her arms, assessing the two men in front of her. "Yes. You must be TNN News Chief Kensei Muguruma." She turns her head to nod to the other man. "And Associate Editor for The Tokyo Daily News, Shuuhei Hisagi. This is Police Inspector Ichigo Kurosaki."

Both men break into broad grins. "Excellent eye for faces, Attorney Kuchiki. I believe we have met a couple of times at press conferences," Muguruma praises, while Hisagi claps his hands. "It is great to meet you both."

"So, what brings you to the area?" Ichigo inquires curiously. "Is there an event going on?"

"We are here to interview the new interim President of Cifer Corp," Hisagi sighs. "They are holding a press conference in an hour and then each news agency gets three minutes with him. Are you familiar with him?"

Ichigo shrugs noncommitally, sipping his coffee. "Not particularly. But you mentioned that you knew Sora Inoue?"

"Yeah, Shuuhei was on the same news team as him when he was killed, but they go way back. I think they were classmates in journalism school. I was their senior editor at the time," Muguruma sighs, glancing at Hisagi who has fallen silent. "He was one of the few truly decent men I ever worked with. Why do you ask?"

Rukia notices the curious glint in his eye. "No reason in particular," she tells him. "It is just that Orihime is a friend of ours. We apologize if it was a sore topic. She misses her brother dearly." They fall into an awkward silence until the girl in question runs up, cheeks flushed.

"Hello, Kensei and Shuuhei!" she squeaks, out of breath from her dash. "I haven't seen you both in so long!"

"Ah, Hime-chan. You've turned into a woman! We should have kept a closer eye on you so you would never have to grow up," Muguruma teases, pulling her into a tight hug. She stops in front of Hisagi, who has suddenly gone quiet.

"I'm so sorry for losing touch with you, Hime-chan," the dark-haired man tells her, his voice breaking slightly. "Sora was my best friend and... it just hurt so much when he died. He would have wanted us to keep an eye on you."

Orihime hugs him too, her eyes filling. "It's okay, Shuuhei. I understand." They stand quietly there, lost in thoughts of Sora.

Then, Muguruma's phone goes off. He glances at it quickly, then apologizes to Orihime. "We really need to go. Thank you, Hime-chan. We really should get together again sometime. And if you ever need anything, just let us know, okay?"

The two men exchange contact information with Orihime, and business cards with Ichigo and Rukia. After a flurry of bows, the journalists take their leave.

"Wow," Rukia comments to Orihime, "Your brother was well-loved."

"Yes," Orihime replies, watching the two men leave. "I had forgotten about Shuuhei and Kensei. I am glad they look happy. I think the last time I saw them both was at the 100 day ceremony for Sora's death."

Rukia and Ichigo wage a silent conversation with their eyes, then turn back to the auburn-haired girl. "So , Orihime, we wanted to ask you for a favor. It's in relation to your brother and Mr. Aizen," Ichigo begins hesitantly.

"Whatever it is," she responds immediately, "I'll do it."

Rukia touches her arm, hearing the resolve in her voice. "Hear us out first, okay?"

 

 

Orihime listens to Rukia's request, her mind going a million miles a minute. In the past week, as she slid back into her daily routine, she has done a lot of thinking. She has come to a few conclusions: one, that she is powerless; two, that Mr. Aizen is still out to silence her, and three, that Ulquiorra is trying to protect her.

And now, Rukia is offering her a chance to try to persuade Ulquiorra to do the right thing. But will he betray his boss? She thinks back to the night in the cemetery, remembering the feeling of his arms around her as he told her he killed Luppi to protect her.

She has seen Ulquiorra's rise to the company presidency in the news. All the photos of him in the papers leading up to now show how dead his eyes have become, and it breaks her heart. If there is a chance to save him; if there is a chance to take Mr. Aizen down and gain justice for Sora, then she is willing to do whatever it takes.

"Yes," Orihime confirms without any hesitation after Ichigo explains what they need her to do. "Yes, I will do it."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Preparing for a formal gala is not that different from the preparations that Mr. Aizen had laid out for her, Orihime muses. It has been a week since Rukia and Ichigo approached her, and the week has flown by rapidly.

Orihime smiles as she thinks of Rukia. The District Attorney met up with her and Chizuru three days ago to go dress shopping and to get their nails done. Afterwards they had all gone to dinner and talked about boys. It was so good to have a normal day out with the girls, doing regular things that friends did together, and it worked wonders helping her get over her trauma from the previous weeks before. Also, she feels an affinity with the district attorney, and is happy to have become such fast friends with her.

Today Rukia picks her up from her house to drive her to the Kuchiki Estate. In Rukia's ancient Honda Civic, both girls chatter animatedly about the upcoming party. Finally they reach the gates. Rukia presses a button and the gates swing wide.

Orihime's jaw drops. "Oh my goodness, is this your house?" She turns to see Rukia blushing uncomfortably. The estate is more a cluster of buildings than just one house, and it makes the Nezu Museum look like a garden shed.

"Actually, I keep an apartment closer to the office," Rukia mumbles as she navigates the long driveway up to the house. "The estate's really ostentatious, isn't it? It's a little bit much."

The red-haired girl's nose is pressed to the glass. "It's so big!" she gasps to Rukia. They drive past manicured lawns and clustered fountains with statuary, the gardens full of people setting up for the night's party.

A mischievous grin curves Rukia's mouth. "That's what she said," she quips slyly, wrinkling her nose.

Orihime convulses into laughter, hitting Rukia on the arm playfully. "Oh my gosh, I can't believe you said that! You're so bad!" she giggles. Rukia joins her laughter, pulling up the car to a curb in front of the central building.

A valet appears. Rukia hands the car keys to him, as three footmen unload the trunk of the car. "Take the luggage up to my suite," Rukia orders, as Orihime gets out of the car as well. They climb the stairs to the main house.

"Miss Rukia, welcome home. And is this Miss Inoue?" a white-haired butler inquires at the front door, escorting them inside.

"Yes, Mr. Tanaka, this is Orihime Inoue." Rukia grins as she makes the introductions. "Hime-chan, if there is anything you need, and I am not around, just ask Mr. Tanaka."

The older man bows his head graciously. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Inoue. Will she be staying in your suite tonight?"

Rukia nods. "She'll be sleeping over in my suite, yes. Have the other bedroom made up."

"Excellent. The hairstylists, aestheticians, and makeup artists have already arrived and are setting up in your room." The butler pauses in front of a massive pair of double doors, bowing.

Orihime glances uncertainly at Rukia. "Um, I can pay for my own hair and makeup stuff," she tells the other girl, remembering the strings attached the last time someone else paid for her. Rukia smirks at her. "Well, since we are technically doing a police operation, it is mostly subsidized by the budget. Don't worry about it, Hime." Taking her hand, Rukia pulls her inside the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"The Kuchiki Estate," Mr. Aizen purrs, as their limousine enters the large gates. Ulquiorra can tell that his boss is excited. Tier and Nemu sit across from them, their eyes glued to their respective devices, although both are dressed in lavish designer gowns. Ulquiorra looks out the window, lost in thought.

Sosuke Aizen was born to a dirt-poor family, and in Ulquiorra's experience, he harbors a deep hatred of the rich families running Japan. When Ulquiorra joined the Arrancars, Mr. Aizen had treated him like a prince, eager to brag to the other gang lords that he had gotten the Cifer heir to give up his heritage and become Aizen's man.

It is only now that Ulquiorra can see how deep the older man's ambition runs. In the past two weeks of social events, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous, he has never seen Mr. Aizen so eager to be accepted by the upper echelons of society.

This was a life that Ulquiorra was born to, and he rejected it. Now that he is forced to live it. Mr. Aizen accompanies him everywhere, so eager to see and be seen. A wave of resentment swamps him. Once again, Ulquiorra is a pawn, trapped in his position. ' _Is it worth it? What am I fighting for, now that my father is out of the picture?'_  he wonders.

A white-gloved footman opens the door. "Welcome to the Kuchiki Estate," he intones, accepting their invitation with a bow. Mr. Aizen adjusts his vest, his eyes gleaming. "White tie suits you, Ulquiorra," he murmurs as they ascend the stairs.

Ulquiorra does not respond. They are led down an entryway lit by a thousand crystal lights on a chandelier that probably cost the GDP of a small country. They follow the stream of well-dressed, beautiful people, through a corridor lined with brightly lit windows and portraits into the massive ballroom occupying an entire wing of the building.

He has been at this long enough now to recognize some faces; the dress designer Yoruichi Shihoin, for example, whom he met at a previous event; or the TNN News head Kensei Muguruma.

"We should mingle," Mr. Aizen murmurs, walking into the throng of people with Tier on his arm. Sighing inwardly, he trails after the other man, trying to ignore the tie that is strangling him.

 

 

"Are you nervous?" Byakuya Kuchiki asks Orihime, as they wait to be announced. He meets her eyes politely.

"A little bit," Orihime admits, her hands clammy in her elbow-length gloves.

He pats her hand on his arm, reassuringly. "Don't be. You look lovely."

Rukia's older brother was a surprise to her, when she met him earlier today. He reminds her of the elves in the fantasy manga she used to read; his long dark hair so glossy she wonders if she can see her reflection in it. He is lean and graceful, tall enough that she has to crane her neck to talk to him, with an air of quiet authority. And yet Orihime wonders why she does not feel any attraction to him.

 _'Because,'_  a voice in her head whispers, ' _his heart is occupied by someone else, just like yours is. Not that it matters, of course.'_  She watches him glance at the portrait of a delicate-looking woman, next to the doors, with eyes the same amethyst colour as Rukia's. His whole face softens for a moment, then he slips his aloofness back on like a mask.

" _Testing, testing, can you hear me, Orihime?_ " Ichigo's voice buzzes in her ear.

She clears her throat, speaking loudly so that the microphone in her necklace can pick up. "Yes, I can hear you fine."

" _There is no need to talk loudly, Orihime. Just speak normally. Everyone, your locations?_ " Ichigo barks out. He seems a little stressed out.

" _Rukia here,_ " Rukia's voice joins in. " _I am at the left side of the orchestra_."

" _I am at the main balcony doorway, surrounded by idiots._ " Ishida enunciates.

"We are about to enter through the main doors above the stairway," Orihime says, glancing at Byakuya, who is aware of the conversation, thanks to a tiny speaker in his ear as well, though he is not wired for a microphone. Looking closely, she notices the tense set of Byakuya's jaw. ' _He doesn't enjoy this,_ ' she realizes. ' _Not at all._ '

"Rukia's brother, I hope you have a great time tonight," Orihime whispers, flashing him a sunny grin.

He looks down at her, startled, as the butler flings the doors open, announcing, "Byakuya Kuchiki and Orihime Inoue."

"Here we go," he murmurs, as they step into the flashes of a hundred cameras, nodding and waving to the reporters. Only Orihime can feel how tense he is, under the graceful posture and practiced smile.  _People really do have masks_ , she thinks, blinking under the flashbulbs.

Two thousand people were invited tonight, to raise funds for the nuclear disaster in Fukushima, and all of them burst into spontaneous applause as Orihime and Byakuya enter. Orihime falters, her heel catching on the edge of the rug. Byakuya's arm is around her waist in an instant, steadying her.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry," she gasps, as she hears Rukia's "Good save, big brother," in her ear. The movement was so smoothly done that it was barely noticed by the press people.

Byakuya nods. "Tell Rukia I have had a lot of practice with her," he murmurs to Orihime. She hides her grin at the brotherly teasing, and together, they descend the stairs.

 

* * *

 

"Oh, wonderful, the host is here." Ulquiorra does not remember the name of the woman he is speaking with, the trophy wife of some politician, but he claps politely together with her, not turning his head. It is all he can do to prevent himself from rolling his eyes at the cleavage she is waving in his face. He can barely hear the announcement of names over the crowd.

"Talk about a grand entrance, eh? Kuchiki's date seems a little clumsy," An actress giggles, batting her eyelashes at him.

 _'It makes you look like you've got a speck in your eye,_ ' Ulquiorra thinks uncharitably, keeping his face blank. Really, his mood just took a turn for the worse. Fine. He decides to meet the host, drop a few thousand for the charity, and then fake a headache. Mr. Aizen can stay as long as he wants to, but Ulquiorra just wants to go home.

Then he feels it. A change in the air, perhaps? Suddenly his whole body is on alert, the primal fight-or-flight reaction kicking in. As if pulled by imaginary strings, his head turns, followed by his whole body, towards the front of the room.

Ulquiorra's eyes land on her, and time stops.

He goes completely still, the world goes silent, and all he can see is her... Her brother's flower pins contrasting with fire of her hair; the radiance of her smile; a flowing green dress that hints at her curves and hugs her mile-long legs. Delicate hands are covered in snow-white gloves that go up to just her elbows, hinting at the slender wrists. Emeralds around her neck glitter in the flash of the cameras, and she is giving that same precious smile up to the grave-eyed man beside her, that she used to give Ulquiorra.

 _'No, you no longer have the right to be angry._ ' He suspects the voice in his head may be his long-dead conscience, finally rearing it's ugly head. His breath hitches. It has been two weeks since he saw her last, and it feels like two weeks since his last breath. His fingers go numb, aching to touch her. The knot in his chest tightens.

"Orihime Inoue, on Byakuya Kuchiki's arm, of all places," Mr. Aizen muses beside him. "My, my. How our little princess has gone up in the world." Ulquiorra hears the dark malice in Mr. Aizen's voice, and feels a sense of dread.

 

...

* * *

 

References: [Orihime's dress](http://in1.ccio.co/QE/P4/ID/360288657390773082kwPBBOvc.jpg), if you guys are curious :)


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

XIV.

 

 

Orihime looks at the crowd and feels panic creep up on her. How is she supposed to find Ulquiorra in the midst of this insanity? She can feel a million eyes upon her, and she is blinded by the never-ending flashbulbs going off, capturing every second of their walk.

"Do not panic," Byakuya murmurs, recognizing the terror in her eyes. "Just walk me to the stage and we'll be fine." She smiles at him weakly and straightens her posture, escorting him to the podium. Her gloved fingers releases his arm, and she steps away, out of the spotlight.

He smiles back at her and starts his speech, welcoming the guests and opening the night's festivities.

Orihime feels her skin erupt into goosebumps, a frisson of awareness skating down her spine. As if pulled by magnets, she looks straight through the crowd of people. Her gaze collides with a familiar pair of green eyes.

He is here.

She takes an unconscious step backwards, the intensity of that green gaze blazing at her. Orihime remembers the months early in their acquaintance when he wouldn't even look at her. And now… and now she cannot bear to look away from him.

Then he turns, cocking his head to listen to the svelte woman next to him, and suddenly Orihime feels jealous for the first time in her life. She glances back at Byakuya, forcing a bland smile on her face.

_Of course he is here with a date_ , she scolds herself, darting another glance at the woman. She is tiny, her black bangs perfectly framing her delicate face.

It looks like getting Ulquiorra alone will be a challenge. Maybe he has moved on. Orihime's shoulders slump.

Byakuya ends his speech, and the audience bursts into applause. In moments, he is surrounded by people. Ever the gentleman, he sends her a questioning glance, through the crowd. "I'll be fine," she says into her microphone, waving at him. "Go ahead and mingle."

He nods, confirming that he received her message. Orihime watches him turn away, observing how he and Rukia have the same air of quiet reserve around them. It is quite similar to Ulquiorra's, now that she thinks about it, although Ulquiorra's silence seems more comfortable to her.

The crowd around Byakuya grows bigger, so Orihime heads towards the tables. "Rukia? Where are you?" she asks into the mic.

"I'm by the donation desk now; Do you need me come to you?" comes the reply.

"Ah, no, I just left your brother so that I wouldn't be in the way. I'll head to the orchestra," she tells Rukia, pushing through the crowd.

"I'm tailing Cifer right now," Ishida interrupts, "but I can leave him and come to you. Remember, you're vulnerable in this crowd by yourself until you can talk to Cifer."

"No need, Ishida, I should head over to him in a bit," Orihime says, flustered. "I'll stick to the plan to try to get him alone after the announcements are made."

A hand grabs her elbow, surprising her. She looks up to find the cold eyes of Mr. Aizen gazing down at her."Hello, Orihime," he grins at her, fingers digging into her arm just above the gloves, hard enough to leave bruises.

"M-mr. Aizen," she stammers, frozen.

Her ears fill with the other people's exclamations. " _Is he with you?" "He's got her alone!" "Orihime, I'm coming_." The last is from Rukia. She glances at the stage and sees Byakuya looking concerned as well.

"You're looking lovely tonight, little Orihime. I didn't know you would be here as well, and on Kuchiki's arm of all people," he leans in to murmur in her ear. "But tonight, you are absolutely delectable. I could eat you up. Too bad we were interrupted last time, hmm?"

" _Do not go anywhere with him, I'm almost there._ " Rukia orders urgently. " _Stall him._ "

"What do y-you mean, Mr. Aizen?" Orihime forces a smile on her face.

"How do you know Kuchiki?" he asks pleasantly, contradicting the way he is half-dragging her to the exit doors.

She tries to dig her heels in, but he is stronger. "Byakuya? Um…" She is no match for him. He maneuvers her into an alcove, gaining a modicum of privacy. Pushing her against a pillar, he braces a hand over her head.

"I saw him touching you earlier, when you tripped. Was that an accident, or did you trip on purpose to get his attention? I wonder, with a girl like you... You are so far out of your league, princess," he purrs, snagging the chain of her necklace with a fingertip. She tries not to show how her skin crawls at his touch, shrinking away instead.

"Orihime, There you are!" Like an avenging angel, Rukia appears, snagging her other arm. "I was looking all over for you! There is someone I would like you to meet."

"Rukia!" Orihime smiles in relief, turning. The delicate chain snaps, causing Mr. Aizen to grab the falling piece of jewelry.

"Oh, dear, I am so sorry. Please, let me replace this," he murmurs, closing his fingers around it. She yanks it out of his hand, panicking.

"Please don't worry about it, Mr. Aizen!" Orihime gasps, hoping he did not notice the microphone. "I'm sure it can be repaired easily."

"Orihime, we can discuss this later, but I do insist on replacing it. Also, I don't believe I have met this exquisite lady," Mr. Aizen interrupts smoothly, not relinquishing his hold on her arm. She can see the banked fury in his eyes.

Rukia looks down her nose at him, an impressive feat given her size. "Excuse me?"

"Ah, Rukia Kuchiki, this is Mr. Aizen," Orihime hastily yanks her elbow out of his hand, linking her arm with Rukia's.

"Call me Sosuke. You as well, Orihime," the older man says jovially. "Kuchiki, eh? You must be Byakuya's famous little sister, the district attorney."

Rukia nods dismissively, the boredom on her face infuriating Mr. Aizen. "Yes, if you will excuse us," she murmurs with a bow, a tone short of being impolite. They leave Mr. Aizen seething, as they escape quickly from his presence.

"That was close," Ishida mutters, meeting up with the girls. He casts an eye at the crowd, looking uninterested as he does so. Awed by the acting skills of Uryuu and Rukia, Orihime wonders if putting up facades is part of the upbringing of rich people.

"Uryuu, dance with Orihime," Rukia says with a sunny smile, the fury in her eyes the only sign of her agitation. "That'll keep her safe from Aizen for a bit. I need to get back to the donation desk to help out."

Ishida bows to her, holding out a hand. "Shall we, Miss Inoue?"

She nods, letting him lead her to the dance floor.

 

 

The woman is waltzing with someone who looks like a meerkat, Ulquiorra notes sourly. Nemu clears her throat. "President Cifer, are you paying attention?"

"Yes," he grunts, looking back down at the device in her hands.

"We are going to head to Chairman Kuchiki now so you can meet his sister formally," Nemu states.

"That man over there," Ulquiorra interjects, indicating Orihime's dance partner. For some reason, he looks familiar. "Who is that man dancing with Kuchiki's date?"

"That? The gentleman in white?" Nemu squints at the couple, then turns back to her device. "That would be Uryuu Ishida, heir to the Ishida Medical Group. Age, 29. Status, single. He holds a double degree in computer engineering and forensics, and a doctorate in . He would be a good connection to make, President, even if he does not work for the family business."

He sighs, weary of corporate games and networking. The only connection he would like to make with that man is Ulquiorra's fist to his face, for daring to touch Orihime, but he is careful not to let his annoyance show.

She smiles at her dance partner, but it does not reach her eyes. The other man does not even look at her; they seem to be in some sort of discussion. What exactly are they talking about? The man suddenly smiles down at her, making her grin in return. Ulquiorra is extremely annoyed.

"Let's go," he mutters, doing an about-face. "Who did you want me to meet next?" He follows behind Nemu, trying not to think about the auburn-haired beauty behind him.

Byakuya Kuchiki holds court at one side of the ballroom, next to the donation table. Ulquiorra observes him for a moment, noting how skillfully he juggles the sycophants and glad-hands the massive egos at play without insulting anybody.

Vaguely, he recalls that they went to the same all-boys high school. Although Byakuya Kuchiki had been student council president a few years ahead of him, he had been decent and fair to everyone. He feels a little better, knowing that Kuchiki is not the type to abuse women.

Ulquiorra finds himself face-to-face with the older man. "Good evening, Chairman Kuchiki."

"President Cifer," Byakuya responds gravely with a handshake. "Although I remember you calling me President in high school, it has been a few years since then. Please pardon my delay, but I would like to convey my condolences on the passing of your late brother. It is too late after the fact, but I am so sorry for your loss."

He is caught off-guard by the sincerity in Kuchiki's gaze, and underneath that, a layer of compassion. ' _This man, too, has lost someone,_ ' Ulquiorra realizes.

"Thank you," he responds, meeting Byakuya's eyes. They remind him of Orihime's, the same stormy grey colour, and he has to fight the urge to turn his head and search for her in the crowd.

"I would like to introduce my sister, Rukia Kuchiki," the other man continues, gesturing to the girl standing beside him.

"A pleasure to meet you, Lady Kuchiki," Ulquiorra greets, bowing politely. She studies him with the same intense gaze as her brother, though he remembers Nemu's report that they are not related by blood.

"I have heard so much about you, President Cifer," Rukia murmurs, her purple eyes challenging his.

"From Byakuya?" He glances questioningly at her brother, who shakes his head.

Byakuya seems a little distracted. "If you both will excuse me, I think I shall have a dance with my date. I have shamefully neglected her." With another bow, he leaves, approaching Orihime as she finishes her dance with the Ishida boy.

Ulquiorra narrows his eyes when Orihime hands something over to the Ishida boy, and he takes it, leaving the room slowly. What was that? More importantly, why can he not stop watching the girl? He does not meditate too deeply on that question, knowing that he may not like the answers.

The orchestra starts another waltz, slow and dreamy.

Ulquiorra cannot tear his eyes away from Orihime, not at this proximity. She is radiant from her exertions, a little out of breath, and her eyes are sparkling as she lets Byakuya lead her out to the dance floor. He forces himself to turn back to the Kuchiki girl. "Would you care to dance, Lady Kuchiki?"

The raven-haired girl raises an eyebrow. "Technically, it is District Attorney Kuchiki, but that is fine, you may call me Rukia." This girl has a sharp tongue on her, and eyes that can see the truths she cuts out with her words. Ulquiorra studies her for a moment, offering his hand. She takes it, and they glide into the dance floor.

"Technically," he says tonelessly, keeping his arms at the proper distance around her, his eyes fixed on the laughing flame-haired girl whirling around a few meters away, "You are not a Kuchiki, if you're going to be a stickler for technicalities. But it's all the same to me."

"No," she agrees, following his lead in the dance. "And you are not quite who you claim to be, Cuatro." She smirks as his face turns carefully blank. He regards her in a new light.

They move in silence, but he cannot help searching for Orihime unconsciously. She meets his gaze across the dance floor, and Ulquiorra misses a step. Hastily, Orihime breaks eye contact first, gazing back up at Byakuya, cheeks aglow. Rukia helps him regain his balance with a sigh.

"You really love her, don't you?" Rukia murmurs, letting him spin her.

"That is none of your business, District Attorney," Ulquiorra says in his monotone, averting his eyes.

"Since you are considering the possibility of a marr- merger with me, it is my business, President Cifer," the look Rukia sends him would probably scare a lesser man, but it has no bearing on Ulquiorra. "And it is interesting that you do not even try to deny it. That is rather reckless of you, don't you think, staring at her when anyone can see. Please know, though, that I am going to turn you down, if you do decide on pushing the merger. This is for your sake as well as mine."

He gazes down at the petite woman as the waltz comes to an end. "I am not going to ask."

The smile that curls her lips is triumphant. "She loves you, you know, for exactly who you are. Think about your priorities, President Cifer. There are many who would only dream about being in the position that you are, right now. But there are even more who would kill to be loved the same way she loves you."

Unconsciously, he turns his head away, and finds Orihime looking at him again. Frantically, she averts her eyes. Byakuya awkwardly pats her on the shoulder, as if commiserating. ' _What kind of relationship do those two have?_ ' Ulquiorra wonders, annoyed.

Glancing back down the Kuchiki woman, he blinks as she leans forward to whisper in his ear. "Don't wait for the situation to reach the point of no return." With a smile, she inclines her head in a bow and walks away.

A tug on his sleeve has him looking at Nemu. "President, there are some shareholders who wish to meet you," she tells him. With a last glance at Orihime, he follows his assistant.

 

 

"Kensei!" Orihime laughs as the white haired man kisses the back of her hands. "What are you doing here?"

"Hime-chan, I'm surprised to see you here too," he grins, turning to Byakuya. "And Chairman Kuchiki, excellent party."

"Thank you, it is for a good cause." Byakuya replies humbly. "I am at a disdvantage..."

"Sorry, I am Kensei Muguruma, TNN News Chief," he introduces himself with a handshake. "I used to work with Orihime's brother." Kensei waves over the passing Shuuhei. "And this is Shuuhei Hisagi, the associate editor for Tokyo Daily."

Shuuhei bows to Byakuya, and gives a half-hug to Orihime. The group exchanges small talk for a few minutes, with Byakuya playing the part of the host quite nicely.

Suddenly, Mr. Aizen and Tier appear from the side, joining them in conversation. "Hello, Chairman Kuchiki, Chief Muguruma, and Editor Hisagi," he greets, bowing politely. "And Orihime, of course." Tier follows suit, looking at her boss with wary eyes.

Orihime tenses, gripping her gloved hands together tightly enough to wrinkle the fabric. Byakuya's smile cools down, and he slides a hand protectively around Orihime. "Aizen."

Mr. Aizen smiles, showing too many teeth. "Ah, I want to commend our resourceful little girl over here." He indicates Orihime with a wave of his hand. "She always lands on her feet, eh?" Tier studies the carpeting silently, looking uncomfortable.

Kensei turns to Orihime protectively. "Orihime, would you like to dance with me?" He asks loudly.

She nods, stepping away from Aizen warily. "Ah, running away then?" The malicious gleam in his eyes has her uneasy. "That's cute. But you're better off with Kuchiki here, he's the richest of all of us. I suppose some people would call her mercenary, but I commend Orihime here for being a survivor."

The silence is awkward and palpable. "Do not address the lady," Byakuya commands, his voice cold.

"Why not?" Aizen laughs. "I am trying to help you, Kuchiki. She was with me a few weeks back, and she managed to get a dress and some presents out of me. Now she's with you." He shrugs, smiling easily. "That air of innocence is irresistible, and she knows it."

"What are you saying?" Orihime asks, cheeks burning. Shuuhei and Kensei frown, but do not say anything.

"Our girl here has a taste for rich businessmen." Mr. Aizen winks at her. "We had fun though, didn't we? After she and I had our... encounter, she was with President Cifer the very next day. She's really... talented, hope you enjoy her, Kuchiki."

"I don't understand how...," Byakuya begins in his bored voice, but he is cut off by Orihime, who raises her head, eyes blazing.

"What are you implying, Mr. Aizen?" she snaps, her hand clenching into fists as she finally loses her temper. "Fun? I do not recall anything of the sort. Did you really manipulate the entire situation to have me give you whatever information my brother left? No," she protests out loud, tears filling her eyes. "My brother was investigating you, and he was killed, on your orders. And I didn't know this, while you hovered around, pretending to be my friend, all the while, just to gain access to all the files he left behind. I thought you were a good person, but why did you have my brother killed?" Everyone around her falls into an thick and awkward silence.

Mr. Aizen's smile is sharp enough to cut glass. "Oh, Orihime," he purrs, "you and your little fantasies. I would suggest putting your efforts into getting into a more honest line of work, instead of trying to use your body to move up in the world."

"That's not true! I am not a- a whore," Orihime gasps. Mr. Aizen reaches towards her to pat her cheek but Byakuya grips his wrist.

"Aizen," Byakuya says coldly, "Kindly refrain from insulting my guests. After all, you are merely here on Cifer's invitation, and were not invited to this event. Security will escort you out. And please, make sure you never set foot on Kuchiki property again." Both men face off, locking gazes.

Mr. Aizen's smile fades. "Are you making an enemy of me, Kuchiki?"

Shuuhei pulls Orihime behind his back protectively, and Kensei stands beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder. Byakuya raises an eyebrow, releasing Mr. Aizen's wrist as three men in dark suits and earpieces appear. "Of course not, Mr. Aizen. That would imply that we are equals."

Mr. Aizen's face goes red with fury. Tier merely nods to Byakuya with the barest of formalities, as she blocks her boss from attacking. "Sir, we do have a meeting we must attend to," she tells him, touching his arm.

The gang leader straightens, whirling around on his heel before any of the security guards can touch him. He heads towards the exit, unwilling to create a bigger scene.

The journalists turn to Orihime. "Hime-chan, are you okay?" Shuuhei asks, concern on his face. "Is it true, what you said about Sora being killed on his orders?"

"How did you get tangled up with that man?" Kensei adds, knitting his forehead in a frown.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I must take her away." Byakuya says smoothly, cutting into their queries. "Orihime, I apologize that you had to be subjected to that. Please, let me escort you to my sister."

Orihime nods, face pale. "Please, Shuuhei, Kensei, let it go," she tells them as she turns to leave.

"Can we at least talk about this later?" Shuuhei pleads, his journalist instincts kicking in. "Sora was important to me as well, and if Sosuke Aizen has something to do with it, I need to know."

"I promise I will tell you later," Orihime replies, eyes anxious, "but not now." With a last bow, she hurries after Byakuya, leaving the two media men with more questions than answers.

 

 

"Excuse me, President Cifer, may I have a word with you?" Nemu breaks into Ulquiorra's conversation with a bank president and a stockbroker. With an apologetic bow, he leaves the group, following Nemu to a quiet corridor.

"Yes? What is it?" he asks, feeling the strain of being around people. The long week is catching up with him. She glances around furtively, and leans in.

"I just received a call from Miss Harribel," Nemu tells him in a low voice. "She and Mr. Aizen had to leave." Ulquiorra looks at her in surprise. She continues, "It seems they were asked to leave by Chairman Kuchiki, and it had something to do with the Inoue woman. Do you wish to leave the event now?"

Ulquiorra feels conflicted; both worried and relieved at the same time, and only years of practice keeps his face carefully blank. "No," he states, "I still have to do my social obligations as the new president."

"But," Nemu pushes her glasses up her nose, gazing at him. "I have introduced you to everyone whom you need to speak with tonight. We are mostly done."

"Then you may go home. Call for a car," Ulquiorra dismisses her, adding, "You have worked very diligently, Nemu. Thank you for taking care of me." The breakneck pace of orienting him as the new President must have taken a toll on her as well; her shoulders relax visibly, even as her eyes widen in surprise at his unexpected compliment. Then he realizes the reason for her shock: Sadao Cifer would die first before complimenting an employee.

"Thank you, President Cifer," she murmurs, "but are you sure? How will you get home?"

"I'll be fine. Send the car back after the driver drops you off." He waves off her concern, still feeling unsettled by the news of Mr. Aizen's departure.

 

He strolls to the open terrace doors, contemplating the crescent moon. It hangs heavy and yellow in the night sky. Ulquiorra is content to breathe in the fresh winter night air, away from the crush of people. Inevitably, his thoughts drift to Orihime. Should he try to talk to her tonight?

"President Cifer," A voice interrupts. He turns to find Byakuya Kuchiki standing behind him, his face unyielding.

"Yes?" Ulquiorra braces himself. Will the other man foist his sister upon him again? The two siblings have been a handful tonight. Or is it going to be about Mr. Aizen?

"You associate with Sosuke Aizen, is this correct?" Kuchiki strides over, standing next to him. "I knew your father, and I am familiar with your situation. This is why I would like to offer some advice to you, Cifer. Stay away from him. The man taints everything he touches; he will destroy you. As your former schoolmate, I offer you this warning."

"I...," Ulquiorra looks at the man beside him, feeling a wave of hopelessness crash over him. "Thank you for your warning, Chairman Kuchiki. As for your sister... I do not think we will suit."

Kuchiki mimics his pose, slipping his hands into his pockets. "I knew that already. My sister is set in her ways," he sighs. "I do not know why I even try. Thank you for taking the time to talk to her, Cifer. I wish you the best in your future endeavours."

At that moment, his phone rings. Nodding goodbye to Kuchiki, he stares at the display on the screen.  _S. Aizen_. The other man heads back inside to the festivities.

The boss does not even wait for him to speak. "Ulquiorra, we have to do something about Orihime Inoue. That woman humiliated me in front of Kuchiki and two journalists from the top media outlets in the country. She has become a liability," Mr. Aizen snarls. "She knows too much. See me tomorrow afternoon at the Las Noches office, at three. " Abruptly, the boss hangs up.

Ulquiorra stares at the device, cursing inwardly. What has the woman done this time? He re-enters the corridor, taking note of the empty hallways. Making his way back to the overflowing ballroom, he searches for Orihime in the surging crowd.

The lights suddenly dim. At the other side of the ballroom, Kuchiki takes the microphone and makes an announcement, causing a round of applause.

How will he find her in this sea of people? Scowling, Ulquiorra scans the faces around him.

He spots her bright hair bobbing through the crowd, weaving towards the side of the room. What is she doing so far away from Kuchiki? She turns her head, her eyes wary. With a strange sense of expectancy, Ulquiorra waits. Sure enough, her grey eyes meet his. He wonders if it will always be like this; that they will always find each other even if they do not mean to.

She averts her eyes demurely, a blush rising in her cheeks. Then, she meets his gaze again, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. She is anxious, he can tell. Ulquiorra makes his way towards her, locking his gaze on hers so he does not lose her. He skirts the jostling crowd, pushing past people who murmur his name.

Finally, he catches up to her, standing in front of her.

"Ulquiorra, may I speak with you?" Orihime asks; he can see how tense she is. He catches the curious glances of the people around them and snags her wrist, slowly making his way to the corridor without being obvious about it. He does not even look behind him, so that they will not attract any more attention.

Her gloved fingers slide into his, cold even through the fabric. Finally, they make it out of the crowded ballroom, into the brightly lit corridor, where partygoers are milling about. Because holding her hand would attract more attention here, he releases it. "Go ahead," he murmurs, pushing her gently ahead of him. "I'll be right behind you."

Her eyes are uncertain, but she nods, turning to walk ahead. Ulquiorra observes her for a moment, looking ethereal in her light green gown, her hair pulled up into a twist, her left hand gripping her right elbow behind her back.

Someone claps him on the shoulder and tries to make small talk with him. Mentally, he counts to five, to give Orihime enough lead time. Offering the person an apologetic bow, he trails her up the stairs to the second floor. Ulquiorra resents having to resort to subterfuge to meet up with Orihime, but he knows it is important to keep their connection secret, especially in a situation like this.

He sees her turn a corner, and quickens his pace, his steps muffled by the thick carpet lining the hallway. The second floor is also full of people; privacy in a place like this seems to be much harder to come by.

 

 

'Calm down,' Orihime tells herself, trying to ease the pounding of adrenaline through her system. He is down the hallway from her, and she is feeling a secret thrill of knowing she will be talking to him again soon enough.

There are too many people around here. She remembers Rukia's words to her about being discreet, especially after Aizen's outburst. Ulquiorra has a lot at stake, being the newly minted President of Cifer Corp, and Orihime does not want to any gossip or harm to come to him because of her.

She glances back at him over her shoulder. He is still there, looking calm and collected as always, halfway down the hallway. She pulls a door open, rushing into what looks like a guest suite. The Kuchiki Estate probably has a hundred of these suites, and this one looks empty. The main room she is currently in has a sofa and coffee table. She heads into the next door, which is a bedroom, and backs out hastily.

It is not going to be that kind of discussion, she thinks, fanning her burning cheeks. The door behind her opens. Ulquiorra is here. He closes the door behind him with a quiet click, and suddenly they are alone.

"Orihime, I need to talk to you as well." Her heart skips a beat at the way he says her name. Voices echo outside the doorway. Thinking fast, she grabs his hand, pulling him into the bedroom. It sounds like a group of people has entered the sitting room; it would be a scandal if she were caught with Ulquiorra in a bedroom, since she is Byakuya's date for the night. She stares at him, wide-eyed with panic.

He opens a smaller door set into the wall, and tugs her inside just as the bedroom doors swing open. The people enter the room, talking cheerfully. It sounds like housekeepers are going to make up the room.

"Where are we?" Orihime hisses, unable to see anything in the enclosed space. The sliver of light from the gap around the door helps her make out dim shapes but she cannot see much else.

He slaps her hand over her mouth, and whispers into her ear, "Quiet, I don't know how soundproof this room is."

They stand in silence for a few minutes. In the semi-darkness, Orihime becomes aware of a few things: one, that her back is pressed up against his front; two, that the room they are in is actually a closet, full of linens; three, Ulquiorra is holding her close, one arm around her waist and the other around her shoulders, his hand still on her lips.

To be fair, Ulquiorra is probably holding her close because the linen closet is crowded with shelves, even if it is a decent-sized closet. The smell of clean laundry fills her nose, along with a scent that is unmistakably Ulquiorra's, masculine and woodsy. Footsteps approach the door.

Moving quickly, he pulls her into the corner, between two shelves, as the door opens. A woman in a maid uniform comes in, humming to herself. She has headphones on, thankfully. She reaches up to grab a stack of towels from the shelf next to them; Ulquiorra drops down to a crouch, taking Orihime down into his arms, still muffling her mouth.

The woman exits the closet, her arms full. Orihime pulls Ulquiorra's hand away, breathing deeply. She turns her head towards him, and notices that his face is only inches away. He is looking towards the door, his jaw outlined by the light of the gap.

He must have the ears of a bat, because he pulls her backwards again, until she is pressed up against his chest, leaning on him, just as the door opens a second time. This embrace is so familiar she wants to cry, so she burrows her face into his shoulders, holding her breath.

The maid replaces the linens she took earlier, unmindful of the couple mere feet from her. They sit, motionless, until the door closes again. Once the door clicks shut, she collapses her head on Ulquiorra's shoulder, exhaling. He claps his hand over her mouth again as a precaution, hissing a warning into her ear.

One minute passes, then another. The lights in the outer room go out. Orihime doesn't move right away, painfully aware that she is sitting on Ulquiorra and his arms are wrapped around her tightly. Eventually, he drops his hand, releasing her lips. "Sorry," he murmurs against her ear, "you were breathing too loudly."

"Am I... too heavy?" Orihime asks timidly, straightening up.

His arms tighten around her, pulling her to her previous position. "No. Just... give me a minute," he whispers, leaning his forehead against her head. "Just a minute." Orihime closes her eyes, fighting the well of emotion at the exhaustion she can hear in his voice.

She reaches up to stroke his hair, her fingertips tangling in the dark locks, fighting not to cry. She has missed him so much, and it feels so good to be touching him again. "Ulquiorra," she asks quietly, "how are you doing?"

He does not reply.

 

She is so warm in his arms. Ulquiorra can practically hear her frantic heartbeat, because it matches his own, and he does not know how to answer her question. All his fury from earlier is gone; all he can think about now is this moment, and her. He releases her, allowing her to escape his hold. A loose curl escapes her bun, brushing against his cheek, tempting him.

"What did you wish to discuss, woman?" He settles against the wall beside her, careful not to touch her. She does not reply immediately. So it seems she does not want to initiate this conversation. He waits in silence.

"I- my brother's files," she murmurs, so softly he has to strain to hear it. "What have you done with them?"

"It is none of your business, as I have told you, and yet you have done something to anger Mr. Aizen." His voice is calm, but inside, Ulquiorra is furious. It is too late for him, but why does she keep falling back into danger willingly? "Even Kuchiki may not be able to protect you." He tries to keep the note of jealousy out of his tone.

She turns her head to his direction in the dark. "You are so unhappy, Ulquiorra. I can see it in the news, and it breaks my heart. Mr. Aizen is wrong, and he's done so many things... Please, hand over my brother's files to the police, and end this."

"Orihime." Even saying her name warms him, but he would never admit that out loud. His hands clench into fists. "You are asking me to betray someone who saved my life. Please stay out of it. He is going to kill you if you do not."

"I cannot stay out of it," she cries out, her voice thick with tears. "How can I do that when you look so miserable?" She reaches over, finding the back of his hand with a fingertip, tracing his knuckles and fingers. Even this simple touch has his heart rate kicking into overdrive.

' _This addiction to Orihime Inoue's touch will be my downfall_ ,' he thinks distantly, ' _but what a fall it would be_.' He turns his hand over, fighting to keep his breath steady as she explores his palm, tracing the lines and dips there.

Her touch is his undoing. He moves closer, tipping her head up to capture her lips, unable to help himself. When he kisses her, he feels like he has come home. For someone like him, who has never belonged anywhere, this is a foreign and terrifying sensation that he cannot fight. She is soft and sweet and everything he has been dreaming of his whole life. He urges her lips to part with soft slow licks, tasting the gasp that escapes when he tangles his tongue with hers.

Ulquiorra pulls her into his lap to straddle him, both cursing and thanking the darkness enveloping them both. He searches for her face with his hands, cupping her hot cheeks and retaking her mouth. Her fists grip the lapels of his jacket tight, her own way of binding him.

He needs to touch her now, to please her and himself. Grabbing a fistful of her hair, he tugs her head back, exposing her vulnerable throat to his teeth and tongue and lips. She jams her own knuckles in her mouth to hold back the cries that escape, trembling from the slow hot kisses he presses against her neck.

"Please, Ulquiorra," she whimpers, her graceful body arching as he nibbles on the sensitive curve of her collarbone.

Her breathing quickens, giving him a rush of satisfaction. "Do you want this?" he asks, slipping his hand under her skirt to stroke the skin of her ankle.

In response, she reaches up, pulling the clips from her hair. The warm curls fall down to her waist, brushing against his arm. He can tell how nervous she is by the way she tenses. Then, she grips the ends of his bowtie, tugging until the tight knot is undone.

She lets out a squeak as he sinks his teeth lightly in the soft spot on her shoulder, marking her while her fingers slip his buttons out of their holes. His hands are busy too, going to the back of her dress to unzip it slowly, revealing her glowing skin inch by inch. "You were exquisite tonight," he admits, soothing the mark with his lips.

With a tenderness that only emerges around her, he peels off the top half of her dress, tracing the exposed skin with soft kisses. Her sleeves slip down her arms, and it only takes a little tug from his finger to liberate her breasts from their confines.

Dear Lord, she is not wearing a bra. Even though he cannot see them, his lips find their way to a pert, puckered nipple. Her voice breaks and it adds fuel to his fire. He can tell she is biting her lower lip; her whimpers are muffled.

"Good, don't make any noise. Hold your skirts up, Orihime," he orders, wrapping her hands around the hems. "And tell me if you like this." With questing fingers he traces the muscles of her legs upwards, learning the shape of them and which spots make her breathing hitch. His mouth is otherwise occupied, tracing open-mouthed kisses across her breasts. Clever fingers trace circles up inside her knees; she trembles as she straddles him, fighting not to moan too loudly.

He marvels at the creamy smoothness of her thighs, stroking his way up to cup her smooth backside. The heat radiating from her centre singes his fingertips. She lets out a moan of protest as his mouth leaves her aching breasts. He pauses. "Quiet, Orihime."

In response, her lips crash on his again, in a mad flurry of licks and bites and kisses. Her fingers are talons, ripping his jacket away from his shoulders, in a quest to touch him, skin-to-skin.

His mind is gone, drowned under all the sensations of the woman in his arms; the special spot right under her ear that smells like vanilla and Orihime, the pinch of her fingers digging into his muscles, the buttery softness of the forbidden skin that lies underneath her clothing, waiting for him to discover it.

With an urgency that is endearing, she pulls his shirt apart, and finally, finally, her hands are on his skin. His eyes roll back in his head at that first contact, and he forgets to move for a moment. "Quiet, Ulquiorra," she teases back, raining kisses on his lips. He is glad she cannot see his blush; he was not even aware that he had groaned out her name.

He is rapidly losing control. Taking the reins again, he pushes her backwards, until she is laying flat on a nearby stack of linens. "What-" she struggles to rise on her elbow, but he pushes her legs apart, kissing the inside of her knee.

"Ulquiorra..." Her voice trails off, small and nervous, while her hands reach for him. "What are you-" Her sentence cuts off abruptly as he moves closer to her aching centre, sliding her skirts upwards with nimble fingers. She is wearing lace again. He hums approvingly, stroking the waistband of her panties. She stops breathing.

Ulquiorra is glad he cannot see her face right now, or he would have lost control. Even now, just imagining her expression... He grits his teeth, trying to ignore his own needs. Hooking a finger under the soaked wet lace, he rubs his knuckles against the wet folds, tugging her panties against the crease. A broken whimper greets this. Good. This is her punishment, for daring to tell him she loves him, for making him love her.

"I am going to taste you now," he informs her, pulling the wet cloth aside so he can kiss her in that secret, dark place.

"N-no, Ulqui-" Her astonished gasp dissolves into a scream as he leans forward, fusing his mouth to her trembling flesh. She bucks under his lips, struggling wildly until he hooks his arm around her legs, keeping her in place. His tongue finds the little bud in her melting centre, circling it slowly. Her honey is sweet and intoxicating, making his head spin.

Orihime plasters both hands to her mouth, but he can hear her hoarse but muted screams. Relentlessly, he pushes her to the limit, until her whole body is drawn tight as a bowstring. She is deliciously sweet and tangy, he finds, tracing the wet folds with the tip of his tongue.

He can feel the spasms starting, from deep inside her. "No," he growls against her, "not yet." She tries not to wail when he stops, but he waits until the tremors have subsided before taking her up again. "You must be quiet, Orihime," he repeats sternly, locking her wrists behind her with one hand.

His bondage of her hands seems to turn her on even more; he has her on the edge soon enough, with long slow kisses, feasting on her as she lies helpless. He wants her screaming and writhing underneath him, begging him for more, but he knows that is not possible in a place like this. Instead, he decides to give her as much pleasure as she can take; this much, at least, he can do for her, no matter how unworthy he is.

She comes apart under his mouth, her entire body erupting into spasms and shivers, his name a prayer on her lips. Releasing her arms, he kisses the palm of her elbow-length gloves, holding her close until the tremors subside. Then she pulls her hands away, working on the fastenings of his dress pants.

"What are you doing, woman?" he sighs, pulling her close.

"No," she protests, pushing his arms away to attack his pants again. She silences him with a kiss, clouding his brain until he realizes that she has her hands inside his clothes. She is adorably clumsy, fumbling with his pants, yanking them down.

"Stop," he groans against her lips, reaching for her hands. She eludes him easily.

"Make me," Orihime responds hotly, grasping his length in her hand. Her grip on him is firm but tentative. He allows her to explore him with curious fingers, but when she touches the drenched head, he bites back a curse at the jolt of electricity that spreads through his veins.

Her breathing hitches as she traces the length of him. ' _She likes touching me_ ,' he realizes, trying not to groan when she adjusts her grip and starts stroking.' _She wants me as much as I want her._ ' Giving up to the inevitable, he stops her hand. She is confused for a moment until he holds her backside, guiding her until he is at her entrance.

"May I?" Ulquiorra asks gruffly, trying not to let his need take over. If she says no, then he will stop, no matter what it takes.

"Yes, please," Orihime breathes, lowering herself onto his hardness. He has to grit his teeth as he slides into her; she is so hot and wet and tight. Her hand flies back to her mouth to muffle the moans.

"Is it good, Orihime?" he asks, furrowing his brow. She nods, and he feels the movement, unable to see it. He starts moving inside her, holding her closer above him. He braces his forehead against hers, wishing he could see her face. The intensity ratchets up when she figures out what to do, and starts grinding her hips against him in response.

The pressure is building up rapidly and Ulquiorra moves faster to match her pace. He can feel her fluttering around him, the tremors marking the impending orgasm. He grabs her head, pulling her down for an urgent kiss. She tenses, arching her back, helpless as the waves of pleasure suffuse her.

"That's it, my Orihime," he whispers roughly, grinding up against her as he feels his own climax start to build. She buries her face in his shoulder with a broken sob, as she starts pulsing around him, milking him. Tightening his arms around her, he gives himself over to her, joining her in her orgasm. Stars explode behind his eyelids as he fights to breathe, holding her tightly against him until she collapses in his arms.

 

The aftermath is quiet, both of them moving to the now-empty bedroom to fix their attire in silence. Orihime cannot stop the flush from her cheeks, and she cannot meet his eyes as she pulls her hair back up into a messy knot, holding the blue pins her brother gave her in her fingers. He straightens his tie behind her, his green eyes shuttered.

"Um, could you please zip me up?" Orihime asks shyly, turning her back to him. He strokes his fingers over her spine before tugging on the zipper. She takes advantage of this to study him in the mirror, suppressing the shivers that his touch causes.

The first time she saw him, he had the saddest eyes she had ever seen. The same look is on his face again, cold and empty, but his eyes... they make her heart ache. He meets her gaze in the mirror.

"You should go first, woman," he tells her, gently taking a lock of her hair in his fingers, pressing it to his lips lightly before tucking it behind her ear. It is such a tender and intimate move, yet it feels like a goodbye. "They cannot catch you with me. How are you getting home?" She closes her eyes against the sudden rush of tears. She can still feel him inside her, in the soreness of her muscles and the heat imprinted on her skin, but she suddenly feels afraid that she will never see him again.

"I am staying here at the manor," she answers, rising to her feet. "With Rukia."

"Kuchiki? District Attorney Rukia Kuchiki?" he asks in surprise. "Do you know her?"

"Yes, she's Ichigo's fian- I mean, she's a regular at the coffee shop," Orihime blurts out, mentally wincing. Although they had not asked her specifically to keep that a secret, she feels that it is not her place to tell Ulquiorra this.

The man in question looks at her with unreadable eyes. "I see. But Orihime, if you hear from Mr. Aizen, call Kurosaki or Kuchiki, alright? Do not allow yourself to be alone with Mr. Aizen at all costs."

The urgency in his voice has her searching his face anxiously. She suppresses a shudder, remembering the man's grip on her earlier tonight. "That won't be a problem."

He walks with her to the door of the suite, keeping a safe distance between them. "Goodbye, Orihime." He does not even hold her hand. Already, she can feel the gnawing emptiness; her skin already misses his touch.

"Wait," Orihime stalls, wanting to stay with him a little bit longer. She fidgets with her skirt nervously. Ulquiorra steps closer, taking her face in his hands. He regards her for a moment, and then kisses her sweetly, until her toes are curling in her shoes and her knees are melting again. She slips the hairpins in the pocket of his dinner jacket, holding him close.

"What is it, woman?" he murmurs, releasing her.

"Won't you... reconsider? Handing over my brother's files to the police? Or me? I can just take them back. We can't keep letting Mr. Aizen get away with this," she pleads. His shields go back up so quickly, she can almost touch them.

"It's getting late," Ulquiorra says, averting his eyes. "Will you have trouble getting back to the event?" He avoids her question, his face a blank mask.

"I just want you to be happy," she insists. "You'll never be happy until you are free of him." They stand in silence for a moment. This time, she is the one who walks away. Turning on her heel, she makes her exit out the door. She does not look back, not wanting him to see her tears.

' _What are we now?_ ' she wonders sadly, dashing tears away with the heel of her hand.

 

It takes her ten minutes to make her way back to the party. As she enters the ballroom doors, Ishida and Rukia are there to greet her.

"Where have you been?" Ishida hisses. "We've been looking all over for you. We have the microphone here, but we lost sight of Cifer."

Rukia takes one look at Orihime's glowing face and red-rimmed eyes. She understands the situation instantly. "You were with him."

Orihime nods miserably, her eyes filling again. "I'm sorry. I failed to persuade him."

Rukia shoos Ishida away, placing a motherly arm around the auburn-haired girl. "Let's go back to the room." She pulls out Orihime's earpiece, handing it to Ishida. Then, together, the two girls leave the party for Rukia's suite.

 

Ishida sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose as he navigates the hallways, heading towards the police van tucked away behind some shrubbery. So this whole operation was a bust, then. He does not look forward to the next meeting with the commander.

He opens the unmarked door, scowling. "Oi, Ichigo, you better not have finished all the-" His voice trails off as he realizes Kurosaki is not alone, staring at the dark-haired man seated beside his partner.

...


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

XV.

 

 

"Ishida? Uryuu Ishida? Of Ishida Medical Group?" The dark-haired man seated with Kurosaki rises, studying him.

"Dammit, Kurosaki, I told you to keep the doors locked," Ishida mutters, stepping into the police van. "Look, if you are asking about the specifics of a case, we cannot help you. All media inquiries must be done with the Tokyo PD media liaison."

"Actually," Kurosaki points out, "Mr. Hisagi here is not asking for information. Please explain to him what you just told me."

"Hello, Mr. Ishida, I am Shuuhei Hisagi," he drawls, crossing his arms over his chest. "And I suppose you know I am Associate Editor for the Tokyo Daily News. I understand that journalists and policemen are natural enemies, but we are natural allies as well. I think we have a common cause in investigating Sora Inoue's death. I have to admit, though, that I am surprised that the heir of Ishida Medical is working as a police inspector."

Ishida raises a perfectly arched eyebrow. "I do not know what you are talking about. I am merely here visiting my friend Ichigo." A coughing fit hits Kurosaki at his words.

Ishida is fiercely protective of his privacy, and as the heir of a rich family, has a healthy dislike of the media. He reaches up to adjust his glasses, and realizes that he is wearing contacts in deference to the formal dress code for tonight. "I see you are busy, Kurosaki. I will see you another time."

He strides to the door, reaching for the doorknob, when Hisagi calls after him, "I know you are investigating Sosuke Aizen's involvement in Sora's death. I have some information for you."

"Why would you help in this?" Ishida asks, turning to face him.

"He was Sora's best friend," Kurosaki explains, his brows knitted. "Orihime told me this."

"Really?" Ishida glances skeptically at the other man. "It's been seven years. How do we know he isn't on Aizen's payroll? Again, why would you help in this case?"

"Because," Hisagi growls, pounding a fist on the table, "I broke my promise to Sora to take care of his sister. He told me, before he died, that if anything happened to him, he would have wanted me to take care of Hime-chan, but after the funeral... I could not even look at her without feeling the guilt. I knew who Sora was investigating, and I knew that he was being reckless; damn it, I even helped him with some of his research. But he was the only one who was targeted. And I broke my promise. So please," he asks, bowing deeply, "Please allow me to assist in your case."

Ishida meets Kurosaki's eyes, and sighs loudly. "What can you offer us?"

"Well," Hisagi mutters, flicking his bangs off his face. "I have Sora Inoue's work laptop."

 

* * *

 

"Good evening, President Cifer," the elderly chauffeur greets him, holding the door open. Ulquiorra nods absently, sliding into the back of the town car.

He had stayed an hour after Orihime left, unwilling to brave the crowds again. The party was over by the time he left the room, and it had taken the driver another 15 minutes to pick him up at the front entryway.

"Did you have a good time, President?" the chauffeur asks, glancing at him in the rearview mirror.

"Yes," Ulquiorra mutters, leaning his head back against the backseat, exhaustion taking over. He closes his eyes, remembering Orihime straddling him, kissing him… Fisting his hand, he pounds the seat next to him in frustration. There is an emptiness that gnaws at him deeply whenever he leaves her, a feeling that something is missing. This ache, at least, is familiar.

But she must not be involved in his world, no matter how hard Mr. Aizen tries. And Ulquiorra hates himself for being weak tonight, for allowing himself to touch her. He is thankful that their encounter happened after Mr. Aizen's exit, but the Kuchiki woman was right, he cannot help but be reckless when he is around Orihime. This must stop.

Her presence tonight was completely unexpected, but she is an indulgence he cannot afford. Sighing, he slips a hand inside his pocket, gazing out the window. His fingers encounter a foreign object. Confused, he pulls out a pair of blue flower hairpins, and his heart constricts.

' _That woman,_ ' he muses, examining them in the flickering lights of the passing street lamps. ' _These pins were her brother's last gift to her, what is she doing giving them to me?'_

A strange feeling fills his chest, and a hundred thoughts flow through his mind. Is she trying to force another meeting with him? No, she is not that devious. It is more likely that she is trying to show him how important he is to her, giving him her most treasured possessions.

"How do I stand a chance against this?" Ulquiorra mutters, gazing at the pins.

"Did you say something, sir?" The chauffeur asks, glancing back.

"No, I was just talking to myself," he replies. Love, he thinks, is a complicated emotion he never wanted to deal with. And yet everything the woman does pulls him in deeper and deeper. He can admit it now: he is in over his head with Orihime. Pulling out his handkerchief, he wraps the pins in the expensive silk, tucking them carefully into his breast pocket.

Thoughts of her are always on the edges of his consciousness, like sunlight. They steal in when his guard is down, warming him. The more he resolves to stay away from her, the more he sees her everywhere; from the taste of his coffee in the mornings, to the damned elevator music that for some reason, is always Bach. And tonight... tonight was...

He is not one prone to furtive fumblings in dark closets. Yet tonight, he lost control, intoxicated by silky skin and soft warmth of Orihime Inoue. He feels his blood heat up just at the thought of her. Even now, a part of him is searching for a way to see her again. ' _It is like waking up for the first time,_ ' he thinks, ' _every time I am with her._ '

In a perfect world, he would be free to be with her; her grey eyes would be the first thing he saw every morning and the last thing he beheld at night. In a perfect world, there would be no need to fight this pull he feels every time she is in the same room, this undeniable yearning that cannot be satisfied.

He scoffs at his own imaginings. In a perfect world, indeed. But he has Mr. Aizen, who saved his life, and has given him nothing but trust. That cold day in October when he had received word of his brother's death, Ulquiorra had died with him, and it was Mr. Aizen who had brought him back. He is bound by chains of loyalty to the man; because of this, Ulquiorra knows that further contact with Orihime is impossible. She is already in enough danger from Mr. Aizen as it is. And he will do anything to keep her safe.

When did she become more important than his goals, Ulquiorra wonders, crossing his arms over his chest. What is it about her that has him compelled? The best thing he can do for now is protect her by staying close to the biggest threat to her.

His mind goes back to his revenge against his father, and how that failed spectacularly.

Yes, the old man is miserable now that Ulquiorra has taken away the company. After the press conference, Sadao Cifer was broken and embittered, refusing to even look at his only remaining son. Ulquiorra expected to feel vindication, a sense of satisfaction at defeating his father, but these days, he is numb and empty, like before, with the added bonus of being exhausted.

None that it matters, since Mr. Aizen will never let go of him. Ulquiorra has learned that much, from the past few weeks.

Has he been blinded by his quest for revenge that he did not see how Mr. Aizen was manipulating him, all this time? Ulquiorra pushes that thought out of his mind, massaging his temples wearily. He can deal with the doubt later. He is still an Arrancar, and his word to Mr. Aizen is unbreakable.

"President, we have arrived," the chauffeur announces, pulling up to the curb in front of his house. Ulquiorra gets out of the car, bracing himself against the onslaught of memories waiting for him inside the house.

 

* * *

 

The next day dawns dark and grey, matching Ulquiorra's mood. Starting at six in the morning, it has been one meeting after the other. Now he strides through the penthouse of Las Noches Tower, getting ready to meet with Mr. Aizen. He nods to the secretary, who scrambles to inform Mr. Aizen of his arrival. The strange restlessness that started from when Orihime left still has him in it's grip, and Ulquiorra cannot seem to shake it off.

"Come in," Mr. Aizen calls through the door. Ulquiorra walks into what looks like an all-hands-on-deck meeting. Six of the eight remaining Espada are present: Barragan, Starrk and Lilynette, Tier, Grimmjow, Szayel. Aaroniero and Zommari, the ninth and seventh, respectively, are still abroad, conducting Mr. Aizen's business.

"Okay, everyone, thanks for coming. You have your orders." Mr. Aizen proclaims, dismissing everyone with a wave of his hand. "Come, Ulquiorra."

The others file past him, heading out without looking in his direction, except for Tier, who gives him a steely-eyed glare, and Grimmjow, who has a troubled look in his normally clear azure eyes. The taller man still sports a sling, and is missing his usual animated look. Ulquiorra ignores them all, approaching the desk.

He waits until the room is cleared, before speaking. "Did I miss the meeting, Mr. Aizen? Am I late?"

The older man leans on his fist, studying him. "No, you're right on time. That was an Espada meeting, and you are no longer Cuatro, remember?"

Right. "Yes, Mr. Aizen," he murmurs, meeting the brown eyes of his boss. He cannot shake the nagging feeling that the previous meeting had something to do with him.

The older man is visibly surprised, unused as he is to eye contact from his most stoic employee. He looks away first, drumming his fingers on the tabletop."Ulquiorra, before we proceed with the merger of Cifer Corp, how was your conversation with the Kuchiki girl?"

"Rukia Kuchiki?" Ulquiorra stares at him for a moment, remembering that Mr. Aizen is aware of the matchmaking attempt.

"Yes," Mr. Aizen leans back in his chair, smiling. "If you two actually hit it off... I can just see Byakuya Kuchiki's face when he finds out that you are my employee. That'll knock him down a notch. And that little uppity bitch, DA or not, I want to see her crawl."

"I think... That we would not suit," he replies, feeling a twinge of annoyance at the ambitions of his boss.

"Really?" The older man lets out a sigh of disappointment. "Why not? Also, what do you know of Rukia Kuchiki's relationship with Orihime Inoue?"

Ulquiorra's instincts kick in at Mr. Aizen's question, so he treads carefully. "From what I understand, District Attorney Kuchiki is a regular customer at the coffee shop."

"That girl seems to have a lot of powerful friends," Mr. Aizen muses aloud. "From the district attorney, to influential journalists, even I got sucked in by her charisma. This little coffee girl… Did you know, Ulquiorra, the necklace she was wearing last night had a microphone? I couldn't get a good look at it, since she snatched it out of my hands. She is definitely working with the Kuchiki woman."

Ulquiorra does not know how to respond to this, so he remains silent, letting his boss continue. There was definitely no necklace on Orihime's neck when they were in the closet, nor after. Her neck had been bare under his kisses, and she had been soft and smooth and... ' _Focus,_ ' he tells himself sternly.

"I wonder if the District Attorney is using our little princess to try to get to me," Mr. Aizen continues. "Ah, well it's a good thing I left when I did. So, why didn't you want the Kuchiki woman again? She's not bad on the eyes, and you could break her easily."

"I think you are mistaking me for Szayel Aporro Granz, sir. I do not find pleasure in torture. You called me to a meeting right now to talk about the Inoue woman," Ulquiorra reminds him, changing the topic. He cannot completely keep his irritation out of his voice.

Mr. Aizen narrows his eyes, his smile fading. "I don't like your tone, Ulquiorra. You are bordering on insolence. Just because you are now temporary president of that company... Do not forget who put you in that position."

"I apologize, Mr. Aizen," Ulquiorra reverts to his normal monotone, lowering his gaze to hide the resentment simmering inside. ' _It is not as if I wanted it_ ,' he thinks sullenly. ' _Quite the opposite, in fact._ '

"Anyway, I wanted to meet with you today because of the files of Sora Inoue. You say you have them secured?" Mr. Aizen continues. "I would like you to hand them over to me. You'll have to forgive me, but my trust of other people is wearing a little thin these days."

Ulquiorra nods impassively. "Yes, sir." So Mr. Aizen is losing faith in him. The thought does not surprise him; in the seven years with the boss, Ulquiorra has watched him go through phases of paranoia, suspecting everyone around him. It has never been aimed at Ulquiorra himself, but he supposes it would have come sooner or later. And, he supposes Mr. Aizen has good reason to suspect him.

"Have it at my house first thing on Monday," Mr. Aizen commands. Another nod greets his words.

"Is there anything else, Mr. Aizen?" he inquires.

"Mmm, in regards to Orihime Inoue... I would say my goodbyes soon, if I were you. That girl might be going away." The older man swivels his chair around to stare out at the view, dismissing him. "You are... friends, after all, aren't you?"

"No, sir," Ulquiorra responds, feeling uneasy about the whole situation. Is the boss aware of last night's... encounter with the woman? She is in danger, and he has a lot less time than he had anticipated, to keep her safe.

"You can go," Mr. Aizen drawls. "But remember, Ulquiorra, I'll need those files by Monday."

Monday is three days away. Ulquiorra bows, exiting the office, eager to leave the man in the chair behind. His long strides are faster than normal, crossing the cubicle area to get to the elevators. The lack of sleep has his temper on a short fuse as well.

The phone in his pocket vibrates; he picks it up, seeing the message:  _C Me 1n D CnVen13nz St0r3. NYd 2 tAK 2U_.

He gets into the elevator, scowling. Grimmjow is not the most literate of correspondents, and Ulquiorra has neither the time nor the patience to decipher his gibberish. He presses the call button, dialing the Sexta's number. It rings once before Grimmjow picks up.

"What do you want?" Ulquiorra asks without any preamble.

"Didn't you get my text message?" Grimmjow asks, his tone serious.

Ulquiorra fights the urge to throw his phone across the small room in frustration. "Can you please communicate with me in English?" he utters, irritated. The elevator doors open and he comes face-to-face with Tier Harribel. Her blue eyes flash at him.

"Who are you talking to?" she demands.

Ulquiorra blinks at her. "Grimmjow."

She snatches the phone from him, hissing into it, "Meet us at the back of the building, by the fountain. Quit your whining." Hanging up, she hands it back to him, and fixes her gaze on him. "Follow me."

Which is how he finds himself in the small garden in the back, ten minutes later, watching Tier and Grimmjow argue about logistics in sharp whispers. He feels a headache starting.

"Look, what is this about? I have to somewhere to be," Ulquiorra cuts in, glaring at both of them. This halts their argument.

Grimmjow turns to him, his eyes serious. "It's about Hime-chan."

"Ulquiorra," Tier whispers, glancing up around to make sure they are not overheard. "Mr. Aizen has ordered a hit on her."

He really should not be surprised by this, but he is. "When?" Ulquiorra asks, numbness sinking in. The winter winds are cold, but he does not feel the bite.

"Tomorrow," Grimmjow replies worriedly. "He told Barragan and Szayel Aporro to collect her and take her to his house tomorrow."

"But he told us he wants you to do it, that he wants you to pull the trigger, in front of him, as a test of your loyalty to him. He knows something is up," Tier adds, her eyebrows drawing together. "And to be honest, Grimmjow and I were told to keep an eye on you." Ulquiorra takes a moment to absorb this, his eyes on the ground.

"He ordered me to come in on Monday, to see him," he utters, his hands clenching into fists. "Not tomorrow. Why would he keep her for two days-" Ulquiorra's head jerks up, his eyes crashing into Tier's. The grim set of her jaw confirms that she has reached the same conclusion.

Grimmjow rubs his chin, his forehead furrowing. "He did that with Momo Hinamori, remember? But he let her live in the end. She was never the same after that, so traumatized at Mr. Aizen's hands that she had a nervous breakdown."

Tier shifts uncomfortably, fidgeting with her collar. "You all saw Barragan here, right? Why else would he be here if he was assigned to Hinamori?" Ulquiorra stares at her until she speaks again. "Hinamori is dead, by her own hand." Grimmjow curses under his breath.

"Why are you telling me this?" Ulquiorra asks quietly, staring at the ground. He does not like the panic pounding through him, the cold fist that is gripping his heart. He feels like he is backed into a corner, forced to make a decision between the woman and his boss. "It is none of my business."

"Are you fucking serious? Are you that brainwashed, that you can't tell between right and wrong? Hell, I know we're killers, and we do his dirty work. God knows we're paid well enough to do it. But this is the woman you love, you idiot." Grimmjow snarls, pulling Ulquiorra up by the front of his shirt with one good hand.

Ulquiorra stares back at him, face unreadable. "Have you forgotten who you are, Sexta?" The angrier Grimmjow gets, the calmer Ulquiorra becomes.

Tier watches them quietly. Then she steps back, her eyes dripping scorn. "If we have to explain it to you, Ulquiorra, then you are dumber than we thought. Do whatever you want. I don't even know why we bothered." Turning on her heel, she starts walking away.

Ulquiorra has had enough of their antics; he has more important things to attend to. "What do you want me to do?" he demands, shoving Grimmjow back so hard the taller man falls against the fountain, striking his face. Grimmjow glares at him, his cheek bleeding. Tier helps him rise to his feet as Ulquiorra's phone rings.

He digs into his pocket, checking out the caller id.  _Nemu Kurotsuchi_. Probably calling about another meeting. He stares at his phone for a moment. Then, he stabs the cancel button with a finger, brows gathering. As he places it back into his pocket, his fingers brush against the handkerchief containing the pins.

Then it hits him: Orihime is entrusting him with her heart. This is the significance of her giving him the hairpins. How could he not have understood it earlier?

What, then, is the prize for his loyalty to Mr. Aizen? His fingers close around the bundle, careful not to crush the delicate pins. If he stays on this course, then it would mean the death of the only person who means something to him. For a moment, he considers a world without Orihime Inoue. No. Even for him, it is unfathomable.

He comes to a decision. All things considered, he needs to protect the most important person in his life. Glaring at Grimmjow and Tier, he asks, "Do you know what time they are going to abduct her?"

A grin crosses Grimmjow's face, but Tier shakes her head. "No, he just instructed them to have her at the compound by ten tomorrow morning. Do you know what to do? We cannot go up against Barragan and Szayel Aporro, not head-to-head." Her face sobers. "You may need to take the girl and go into hiding."

Ulquiorra shakes his head. "No, I will not do that." He thinks of her friends, of her frequent visits to her brother's grave. He cannot take her away from Tokyo, not permanently, not to live the life of a fugitive.

"Then what? What can we do?" Grimmjow grumbles, wiping the blood from his face.

Ulquiorra realizes it is inevitable; he can only hope he has enough time. "It is time... for Mr. Aizen to face his consequences," Ulquiorra's eyebrows furrow as he says this. The three of them are silent for a moment, realizing the gravity of what they are about to do. "Will... you... help me do this?" It is difficult for him to say it, because he has never asked for help in his life.

"I'm in," Tier says without any hesitation, followed by a nod from Grimmjow. Ulquiorra does not ask them why they are choosing to help him, to betray Mr. Aizen. But there is a strange tight ache in his chest as he looks at them.

"Alright. For now, keep an eye on Orihime," he tells them, bursting into a full sprint towards the parking garage. "I may need you to stall Barragan and Szayel. Please keep me posted on their actions, and wait for my call."

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra reaches his home in record time, and sure enough, there is no police van parked in front of the gate. It is not important; he is here for a different purpose. Kurosaki can be tracked down later. He runs inside, leaving the engine on. Retrieving the cardboard box of files, he shoves it into the backseat.

Before starting the car, he places a call to Nemu. Ulquiorra does not bother with trivialities such as greetings."Nemu, are you still at the office? Can you gather two trustworthy people? I have an urgent project for you." He gives her the details briskly, outlining all the tasks that he needs to be completed.

"Yes, President," she responds, ever efficient. He appreciates her briskness, hanging up.

That done, he places another call, this time to Orihime's cell phone.

"H-hello? Ulquiorra?" Her voice is surprised; he supposes he has never called her before.

"Where are you, woman?" he asks.

"Um... I'm at the Kuchiki's, why?"

"Can you spend the night there? It should be safer there for you," he explains. "I cannot go into detail right now, but can you stay there?"

She is silent for a moment. "Alright. I trust you," she sighs. "You don't normally call me, so it must be urgent. I'll ask Rukia if I can stay here an extra night. Wait, I should ask Byakuya since this is his house."

"Good," Ulquiorra says, glad she cannot see his scowl. So she's on a first-name basis with Byakuya Kuchiki? His fingers tighten around the steering wheel.

"Ulquiorra," she breathes, sending a rush of warmth through him.

Having her on speaker phone in the car feels comforting, like her voice is surrounding him. Ulquiorra closes his eyes for a moment. "Yes?"

"This thing... between you and I...," her voice trails off. He can hear her nervousness, and truth be told, his heart is pounding too. It is not comfortable, this warmth pooling in his stomach. "I love you. Can we... talk about this soon?"

Ulquiorra suspects he is blushing, and is glad he is on the phone. "I understand," he says quietly. "I feel the s- We can discuss this at a later time. Orihime, do not wander off alone for the time being. Is the District Attorney with you?"

"Y-yes." She sounds disappointed, but it cannot be helped. He will be able to tell her soon enough. "And Ichigo is coming tomorrow as well."

"Wait, Kurosaki? Why will he be going there?" There are too many coincidences for him to be at ease. He remembers Mr. Aizen's words about Orihime working with the DA to capture him, and wonders if this is true.

"Ah, I should not have said that," Orihime says regretfully, "But don't tell anyone, okay? Ichigo and Rukia are engaged." Ulquiorra absorbs this new piece of information. A DA and a police inspector? That made sense, but if the police inspector was investigating him, then the DA would not be far behind.

"Orihime, is there anything else you would like to tell me?" he asks cautiously.

"Yes. Ulquiorra, I want to save you. Please, hand in my brother's files to the police," Orihime pleads again. "I don't want to see you hurt." He sighs, massaging the bridge of his nose.

"Good night, Orihime. I'll be in touch with you soon." Ulquiorra hangs up before she can say anything, knowing that any more information would put her in danger.

He turns on the car engine, resuming his drive to the office. This is all for her, Ulquiorra tells himself, and he would die first before letting anything happen to her.

 

* * *

 

"The computer is password protected," Ishida muses aloud, "but it is a rather primitive security system. After all, it is seven years old. However- because it is crude, it will wipe the computer after ten failed attempts. There is not much I can do once that happens."

"So you cannot get in?" Ichigo asks, peering over his shoulder. Hisagi had dropped off Sora Inoue's laptop after his work day, but they had spent the last five or so hours just charging it and making sure it was still intact. It is now two in the morning, and it looks like both of them will be pulling an all-nighter tonight.

"Maybe Orihime would know what it is," Ishida suggests, scowling. "I could force my way in, but it would be a lot less elegant or functional; we run the risk of losing everything. The only hint that appears though, is this one line: _Had I known it for a dream, I would not have awakened_."

"Should we call Orihime and ask if it means anything?" Ichigo suggests, running the phrase through a search engine. Websites about psychology and dreaming pop up; sifting through them would take weeks. "This is a poem by Ono No Komachi. Can you try that name?"

Ishida points to the window. "Look, this is what the password is: three romanized letters, three digits, two romanized letters, and three digits. I don't want to waste our ten chances at a random guess."

"Wait. Remember the Nemu Museum? The room they were in had an exhibition on calligraphy and poetry... Could it be-" Ichigo pulls up the list of exhibitions and the schedule on his own workstation, stabbing a finger at the screen. "Hey, tell me the hint again?"

"Had I known it for a dream, I would not have awakened." Ishida quirks an eyebrow, adjusting his glasses.

"Right! Here, try this! KKS:552, IM:142." Ichigo watches his partner's fingers fly over the keyboard, but Ishida pauses before pressing Enter.

"We only get ten tries, Ichigo," he warns Ichigo. "Where did you even get this?"

"Look, the KKS stands for the Kokinshu, which is the collection of poems. 552 is probably the poem number? But IM is Ise Monotogari, and the second number, ah, see for yourself." Irritated, he swings the monitor towards Uryuu. After a moment, Uryuu presses enter, and the screen goes dark. They hold their breaths unconsciously, hoping.

Then the laptop lights up again with the Windows XP signature startup music; they break into triumphant grins. After trading high-fives, Ishida connects it to his desktop computer, copying the hard drive just in case.

The loading bar takes forever. Straddling his chair, Ichigo turns to his partner. He asks, "Hey, Uryuu. Why'd you become a police officer? I mean, I knew you weren't as rich as Rukia, but you guys are pretty rich."

"Your dad's a doctor. Why aren't you a doctor?" Ishida retorts, completely focused on the monitor in front of him.

"It's an honest question, asshole," Ichigo mutters, sulking into his folded arms.

After putting some thought into it, Ishida replies, "Firstly, nobody is as rich as the Kuchikis. Secondly, stop breathing into your seat. You'll get your spit all over the upholstery, and it is certainly unhygienic. You do remember that we are a police station, and that chair is probably older than you or I, and who knows what kind of people have sat in that ch-"

His lecture is interrupted by a beep, signalling that the upload is complete. Stretching his fingers out, Ishida pulls the keyboard tray, digging into the computer. There are three folders on the desktop, and a video file.

Ishida hits the play button, and the face of Sora Inoue pops up.

" _Um, hey, Shuuhei. It's me,_ " he says self-consciously. " _Sora. If you find this, well, something may have happened to me. Well, that's assuming you can get through the passcode._ " The two police inspectors pull their chairs up closer to the screen to hear his next words. " _I hope you were able to access all my files at home. Talk to my sister, she'll probably help you. I've been assembling a story on Sosuke Aizen, the boss of the Arrancars._ " He launches into a detailed explanation of the files he has gathered, and points out the list of names connected to Sosuke Aizen, in a separate file.

Twenty minutes later, the video ends. "Well, we will need the files that Cifer took," Ishida grumbles, leaning back in his chair. "We have some of Inoue's notes here, and the names of the properties that Aizen acquired, but this is a list of contents. The actual documentation that we need would take months to gather; he had already put them together in that box of files. If we don't find the box, it might be impossible to gather everything again."

"Plus, in the video, Inoue said that Aizen had a contact inside the police force." The redhead runs his hand over his stubbled jaw, lost in thought. "Let me check the database for the files. Give me one of the names or places."

"Gin Ichimaru," Ishida recites, reading aloud from the list on his own workstation.

Ichigo types it in. The loud error sound indicates that the file is missing. "Another one," he orders.

"Kaname Tosen?" Another error.

"Try Hueco Mundo?" It comes up blank.

"It seems as though the police database has been scrubbed," Ishida mutters after going through the names on the list, pulling Ichigo's keyboard towards himself. He enters a few commands, all of them coming up empty.

"Can't you do anything about it, Uryuu?" Ichigo asks hopefully.

Ishida shoots him a glare. "If it were blocked, I could risk my job by hacking into the database and retrieving the files. Unfortunately, this is not the case, as the files are not there. How can I make files appear out of thin air? They have not merely been deleted. They are completely scrubbed."

Frustrated, Ichigo leans back, rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his hands until he can see fireworks. "So you're saying, what we need right now are the actual files that Cifer acquired from Orihime."

"Yes," Ishida lets out a defeated sigh. "But I guess we can try to contact him again tomorrow. It would be so much easier if we have proof that Cifer took it. Then Rukia could obtain a warrant to search his residence." They sit in silence for a moment. "I suppose it is too late to call Cifer and ask him nicely, eh?"

"We tried asking nicely with Orihime, over my objections, I might add. What makes you think he'd agree to us asking directly?" Ichigo retorts, blinking until his eyesight is back to normal. He rises, grabbing his coat and Ishida's arm. "Come on."

"What?" Ishida scowls, peeling his partner's fingers off his elbows. "Where are we going?"

"Let's take a break to clear our heads. I want some ramen," Ichigo sighs, trudging off dejectedly.

 

* * *

 

The message alert tone on Orihime's phone wakes her up at 6:00 AM. Blearily, she looks around the unfamiliar bedroom, then dives for her phone. " _Sorry for the late notice, but can you cover this morning's opening shift? The morning person is sick today_ ," the message from Chizuru blinks on her phone.

Orihime's fingers type " _Yes,_ " while she lies back, eyes closed. Then, with a great effort, she forces herself into a sitting position, exhaling loudly. Her phone beeps again.

Cranking an eye open, she reads the message. " _Thanks! You can be a bit late, but we need you here by seven._ " The sun is barely up, she sighs to herself, remembering now that she is still at the Kuchiki Estate.

She pads to the bathroom, stretching and yawning. The shower heads at the Kuchiki house are heavenly, and Orihime wonders if she can persuade Byakuya to tell her what brand they are so she can get one for her own home. After her morning shower, she brushes her teeth, looking at the dress hanging in the closet.

' _Ah, I can't bring it to work now, it's too pretty and it would get wrinkled_ ,' she thinks, rinsing out her mouth. The efficiency of the Kuchiki servants had the dress dry-cleaned and hung up in her borrowed closet 24 hours after the gala. She stares at it for a moment, remembering how Ulquiorra had peeled it off her slowly, covering her skin with soft kisses as he had exposed her. A flush sweeps her whole body.

Shaking her head to clear it, Orihime pens a note to her hosts, unwilling to wake them at this early hour. Around her, she can hear the household waking up. She nods in passing to the maids in the hallway, and skips down the corridors to hand the note to Butler Tanaka. "Please give this to Rukia and Byakuya," she instructs him with a smile.

He nods, his face impassive. "Will you be needing a lift, Miss Inoue? Lady Rukia has requested that a car be made available for your use."

Orihime shakes her head emphatically. "I have already imposed too much on their hospitality. Please, I can just take the bus from here. The buses should be up and running."

"Very good, Miss," he tells her, holding the doors open with a bow.

"Thank you again!" she tells him, sprinting out the driveway.

She is close to work when she realizes she is being followed. A huge hulk of a man trails behind, dressed in a giant white trenchcoat, so massive the tops of the parked cars go up to his belt.

'No,' Orihime tells herself, laughing it off. 'He's just probably going the same way as you. Stop being so paranoid.' Just to be on the safe side, she crosses the street. He follows her direction, lumbering along quietly. Now she wonders if there is something to Ulquiorra's warning the previous night, to stay at the Kuchiki's.

The slowly waking city streets are devoid of people, because it is a weekend. She glances in a sideview mirror to check if he is still behind her. To her horror, the man meets her eyes, sending her a scary grin.

Orihime picks up her pace, increasing her awareness of the surrounding buildings. She had just passed the convenience store, and she does not want to double back; that would bring her even closer to the strange man. A torii gate up ahead reminds her that there is a shrine nearby; she has always passed by, never going in.

Aren't there monks all the time in shrines? And it is holy ground of some sort, so maybe she can find some kind of sanctuary there. She waits until the man behind her pauses, and then springs into action, running into the walkway, up the steps towards the shrine.

Her hand goes into her pocket, reaching for her phone, but she misses a step, dropping the device on the ground as she puts her hands out to break her fall. Her knee slams into the wooden step hard; she bites her lip, trying not to cry out as she looks behind her desperately.

To her horror, the huge man is joined by a familiar face, the doctor whom Mr. Aizen had offered to "examine" her. He holds a rifle up to her, aiming. Orihime panics, pushing herself harder to go up the stairs, despite the pain in her knee.

"Are you shooting at me?" she cries out incredulously. "What do you want from me?"

"We need you to come with us," the giant booms. Orihime gets her first good look at his face, and somehow he is more terrifying now that she can see the scars on his skin. The other man picks up her cellphone, slipping into his pocket casually.

"Miss Inoue, we really did not want to resort to this," the slender doctor sighs loudly, pulling the trigger. She lurches to the left, barely avoiding the ping of something metallic, and it bounces off the wood harmlessly. She scrambles up the stairs, but the man takes aim again.

'Is this how I die?' she wonders, feeling a sharp pinch on her arm. She glances down to find a tranquilizer dart sticking out of her arm; her legs suddenly feel heavy. Orihime crashes down, her cheek hitting the ground hard.

"No," she whimpers, but her lips do not move. Her whole body is paralyzed. She fights to open her eyes, but all she can see is the ground, and the stairs. Finally, the tranquilizers kick in, and everything goes dark.

.

* * *

.

A loud cacophony interrupts Ulquiorra's fevered dreams of large fish-pastries with orange hair and Sora Inoue singing a love song to him. Blearily, he sits up, realizing that he had fallen asleep at the desk of Cifer Corp's conference room.

Nemu hands him his phone and a cup of coffee, not a hair out of place. His attention is captured by the blast of his phone again. He checks out the name. It is Grimmjow.

"Hello, Grimmjow?" he mumbles groggily, sipping the coffee gratefully, not caring about the scalding temperature.

"Ulquiorra, dammit, it's about time you picked up. I'm at the boss's house right now," Grimmjow hisses. "Szayel Aporro and Barrigan just called. They have Orihime and are on their way back here. You better have a plan now. All of the Espada were summoned here this morning."

"What?" Ulquiorra bolts upright in his chair, glancing at the clock. "It is only seven. You told me they had planned to-"

"Well, Hime-chan's choice to stay at the Kuchiki's threw a wrench in their plans, so Szayel Aporro masked a number and texted her to come to work today," Grimmjow says in a testy voice. "They got her to leave the Kuchiki estate by herself. She should be here soon. What do you want me to do?"

"Stay put," Ulquiorra orders, chugging the rest of his coffee. "And you and Tier try to keep her safe until I get there." He hangs up, glancing at the innocuous-looking box of documents, and at Nemu. His mind is racing over his options right now. Even an hour alone with Mr. Aizen might cause irreparable damage to Orihime, he knows that much from experience, so he needs to act now. The assistant gives him a flash drive, nodding at the box.

"The scanning and copying of all the documents have been completed, and all the audio tapes and videos are on the drives as well," Nemu tells him. The only evidence of her all-nighter is a slight pallor to her face, expertly hidden by makeup. "That box contains the physical copy of the files, just in case. A master copy is also on your computer. The originals are over there." She gestures towards the other box in the corner. Both boxes are identical.

Ulquiorra rises to his feet, inspecting the copies. "Nemu- are you alright with this? Mr. Aizen is still my boss and yours. You know what the implications of the files are," he points out. "Are you going to be fine getting involved with the situation?" He picks up the second box of files, heading out the office doors as he speaks.

She nods briskly. "You are a Cifer. I worked for Cifer Corp for as long as I remember, and my loyalty is to you, President. I have cancelled your meetings and events for today," she tells him, falling into step beside him as they walk towards the elevators. "Did you wish for me to accompany you to Mr. Aizen's compound?"

"No," Ulquiorra tells her, unwilling to put anyone else in danger. "You know what to do with the original files. That will be all."

"President," Nemu says, flashing him a rare smirk as the elevator doors start to close. "Go save your woman."

.

* * *

.

"Inspector Kurosaki!" Jinta's shrill voice jerks Ichigo awake from the couch he is napping on. The rookie smirks at him from the doorway. "Ishida sent me here to wake you. There's someone here for you."

Blearily, Ichigo rises to his feet. "Who is it?" he grumbles, staggering over to the sink to splash water on his face.

"It's Ulquiorra Cifer, the Pres-" the rookie begins, holding out a towel. Ichigo glares at him sharply, and then sprints down the hallway without drying his face.

"He's in conference room D!" Jinta hollers after him.

Ichigo changes course, running back the other way, until he arrives at the aforementioned conference room door, slightly out of breath. Bursting into the room, he comes face to face with Ulquiorra Cifer and Ishida, sitting across the table from each other in perfect silence, postures mirroring each other perfectly.

"Glad you could join us, Inspector Kurosaki," Cifer says, turning his green gaze on Ichigo. "Now you are both present, I can start. Please do not interrupt me as we are on an extremely tight schedule. Have a seat."

Ichigo is irritated by the imperious attitude of the newcomer, but he obeys the command, sinking into the seat next to Ishida. "Why are you here?" he asks.

"Orihime Inoue has been abducted by Barragan and Granz," Cifer utters the bombshell in his monotone. "And is currently being transported to Mr. Aizen's compound."

"We have to stop that! Do you know where it is?" Ichigo bellows, rising to his feet. "We would not need a warrant for that, if we have probable cause that Sosuke Aizen abducted her."

"I told you, do not interrupt me again," Cifer castigates him, his brows furrowing in annoyance. "Even if you managed to foil the abduction, there is no way you could pin it on Mr. Aizen. I should know; I was an Espada. He is meticulous about these things, and the Espada are all trained to take the fall in case something like this happens. You may retrieve the woman safely, but you will not be able to take down Mr. Aizen." Even Ishida glares at Ichigo.

"Fine, then what do you suggest?" Ichigo crosses his arms over his chest stubbornly.

Cifer reaches into his pocket, and slides over a thumb drive. "I need you to take him down, the legal way. If you go in with guns blazing and no warrant, I guarantee that the Las Noches lawyers will tie it up in so much red tape that it will take years to sort it out. You need to do your job, and do it well so that the case is airtight."

"What is this?" Ishida stares at the thumb drive, his face impassive. Only Ichigo can hear the excitement in his voice, and this is because they have been partners for years.

"Sora Inoue's files. Scanned." Cifer rises to his feet. "Do what you need to do. And then arrest Mr. Aizen and lock him up."

"And what about the originals?" Ishida asks, steepling his fingers.

"Unfortunately, I am not able to give those to you at this time," Cifer tells him. "But those are good enough for probable cause. I will head to the compound to keep Miss Inoue from coming to any harm. Get the warrants to search the place as soon as possible. The longer Miss Inoue is with Mr. Aizen, the worse it will be."

He exits the room, leaving Ishida and Ichigo staring after him.

"Did he... just... tell us how to do our jobs?" Ichigo asks incredulously.

Ishida grabs the flash drive, throwing him a glare. "He just did it for us, you idiot. Go wake up DA Kuchiki. We will need to get all of this put together fast so we can obtain a search warrant."

"No," Ichigo says, determination glinting in his eye. "It won't just be a search warrant. We'll need to send in a full SWAT team to rescue Orihime."

The bespectacled man mulls it over for a moment. "Normally, I would say that is incredibly stupid and naïve of you, but it is not a terrible idea."

Ichigo shoots him a grin. "Go unpack Cifer's present. I'll go wake Rukia and the Chief."

 

...

* * *

 

 

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

 

**XVI.**

 

"Wait, Cifer," Ichigo calls out, catching the dark-haired man before he reaches the car.

The man glances at him, his face as blank as a statue's. "What is it? You do know that we are short on time," he utters, a trace of annoyance in his tone.

"We need to put a microphone on you," Ichigo gasps, bending over to catch his breath after sprinting so hard. "It- would- make things- easier."

Ulquiorra Cifer glares at him. "We do not have time for this."

"Not a live mic. Just a recording device," Ichigo tells him. "It will help with our case, if you cooperate with us. You could be a confidential informant."

"I do not care," Cifer growls, his green eyes blazing. "Orihime Inoue is alone with Aizen right now. I must leave."

Ishida joins them in the parking lot, holding a device in his hand. "Here it is," he tells the other two. "I can even stick this on your tie pin, make it as unobtrusive as possible."

"If I do this, will you let me leave?" Cifer is frustrated, and Ichigo has never seen him like this.

"Yes, yes." Ishida pulls off the tie pin, and snaps the device on, tucking it back into Cifer's tie. "Done."

"I am leaving now," Cifer mutters, slipping into the car. Unceremoniously, he backs the car out of the parking space, leaving the two police men to stare at the taillights.

"Keep Orihime safe until we get there," Ichigo yells, cupping his hands around his mouth.

"Come on." Uryuu sighs, sprinting back inside. "We have to get the warrant and everything."

.

After a mad dash through the city, Ulquiorra pulls up his BMW to the gate, waiting for the guards to open it.

"Mr. Ulquiorra," a guard with a clipboard says, looking terrified. His reputation precedes him, it seems. "Um, sir, your name is not on the list for today." Ulquiorra fixes his gaze wordlessly on the other man, making him squirm. "Right, let me double check again."

"Call Tier," Ulquiorra commands, sending a scowl to the guard. The man nods, backing into the guard booth to obey him. A minute later he comes out, bowing.

"Miss Tier said to allow you in. I apologize, sir." The guard bows down. Ulquiorra drives into the now-opened gates, towards the looming mansion at the end of the driveway. Pulling up to the stairs, he hands the keys to a lower-ranked Arrancar, grabbing the box of evidence from the backseat. Tier meets him at the front door.

"She arrived here about half an hour ago. They brought her into the study," she tells him, whispering from the corner of her mouth as she leads Ulquiorra through the corridors. "So it is just the two of them in there. I don't think he's done anything yet, though. Do you have a plan?"

He turns to her and nods, face impassive. "Please keep everyone else away."

Tier knocks on the polished wood. "Mr. Aizen, Ulquiorra here to see you," she calls out.

After a moment, Mr. Aizen's muffled voice can be heard. "Come in." She turns to him, touching his arm. "Good luck."

Ulquiorra acknowledges this by meeting her eyes, before turning the doorknob. Everything that transpired to bring him to this very moment flashes through his head. There is no room for doubt, now. He knows exactly what he has to do.

 

* * *

 

_It was in the dead of winter, and Ulquiorra stood at the gates of his brother's mausoleum. He arrived too late for the funeral; already the steps leading up were dusted with snow. Fury, frustration, hopelessness; these were all emotions that he should have been feeling. Instead, he was numb._

_Around him, the world was grey and black and white, as it should be. There was nothing left for him, really. This was the brother he shared a womb with, whose life he stole. Ulquiorra did not need to think anymore, or fight his father. It was over._

_One foot in front of the other. He walked aimlessly, away from the cold marble holding the last warmth he had in this life. The landscape became a blur, buildings and gates and houses and shops melting away. His mind was blessedly empty, devoid of any stray thoughts, save for one: Ulquiorra was not lost in thought; he was thoroughly lost._

_Hours passed, or maybe days. It did not matter to him. His shoes were unbearably heavy, but he took another step, and another. He did not need food or drink. His brother was now unable to partake of either, so he could not._

_People moved out of his way. What did they see when they look at him?_

_Nothing. There was nothing there._

_Just an energy that had to be exhausted completely until he shut down, and then he could sleep, and join his brother in his Batman-printed pyjamas, for all of eternity. Then finally, finally, he stepped off a sidewalk, swaying forward in what felt like slow motion._

_He turned his head to see a bus barreling down towards him, and closed his eyes, bracing for impact, welcoming it, even. And like the hand of a God, someone grasped him by the shoulder, pulling him backwards. The last thing he remembered was seeing some kindly brown eyes smiling down at him, and a deep voice saying, "I've got you, Ulquiorra Cifer."_

It is the same pair of eyes that he stares at now, and the mask is slipping, revealing a hunger for power and a darkness that cannot be contained.

 

* * *

 

"Ulquiorra, I told you to come here on Monday. You are here too early. I haven't had my fun with the princess yet." Mr. Aizen's voice is petulant, and dangerously so.

Orihime is unconscious, lying so pale and still on the sofa, her head on the lap of his boss. Ulquiorra does not to look at her directly, although his instincts are telling him to grab her and run. The older man continues, "Ah, whatever. I guess you can watch. It'll just be like old times. You had your fun with her though, so I hope you don't mind that you don't get a turn."

"Is she sedated?" Ulquiorra asks, forcing his tone to be emotionless.

He grips the box tighter, his mind clear. There is one goal: to save Orihime. He does not say anything, knowing it will keep Mr. Aizen talking. If she was knocked unconscious, he will find out who lay hands on her and end them.

"Just a dart from Szayel Aporro." The older man looks contemplative as he gazes down at Orihime, stroking her cheek with a finger. "This girl has got us all wrapped around her little finger, eh?" he muses, grabbing a lock of auburn hair between two digits, winding slowly. "Such a helpless girl got even the great Byakuya Kuchiki to stop and pay attention. She has the devil's own luck, really."

Releasing her hair, Mr. Aizen pushes a thumb roughly against her lower lip, sucking in a breath. "Oh, how deliciously soft she is. If I push a little harder, she'll bleed," he muses aloud, meeting Ulquiorra's eyes. "But you would know all about this, right? After all, you've sampled our Orihime."

The dark undertones of the older man's voice have never been aimed at Ulquiorra before. Now, he gazes at Mr. Aizen, seeing him objectively for the first time; as a manipulator of the first order, cunning and sly, spouting truths as skillfully as lies until his prey is trapped in the web of his making.

' _Stop touching her,_ ' Ulquiorra thinks resentfully. He needs to distract the man. "Did you know who I was, Mr. Aizen? When you saved me from that bus?" He slides the box down to the mahogany desk, fighting the tendrils of nausea in his stomach as he adjusts the Cifer pin on his necktie.

Mr. Aizen smirks, his attention diverted, though he keeps a hand on her head, stroking her hair. "This is the first time you've ever asked me that, Ulquiorra."

"Yes," Ulquiorra replies, facing him again. He sees the arrogant smirk on the older man's face, and knows now, without a doubt, that Mr. Aizen had arranged to be present when Ulquiorra needed help, so that he would feel indebted to him.

Seven years of service to this man, and Ulquiorra has learned to read the nuances of Mr. Aizen's voice and expressions towards other people. He should have known all along. Mr. Aizen tends to display a singular focus when he wants something. He will go all-out to get it.

"Ah, I visited your brother once, did I ever tell you?" Mr. Aizen queries, stroking Orihime's cheek. "I had heard of the dissent between the Cifer heir and the President, but everyone was curiously close-mouthed about the existence of the deformed twin brother of the heir."

There is a roaring in Ulquiorra's ears. The lack of sleep is taking a toll on him, but he wants to hear the rest of Mr. Aizen's story. "So you knew of me, then."

The older man sighs. "I was an up-and-coming gang boss, remember? This was before I went fully legitimate. And doors were closing in my face, right and left. So what could I do? Team up with a rich family, of course, but not just any rich family. I had a list of families I could approach, some loose threads I could pull to see what unraveled. Unfortunately, Momo-chan got a little too clingy when I looked at potential heiresses. She threatened to expose me, right when Luppi had just gotten rid of the annoying journalist. I decided to hold off, then. Marriage is too permanent."

Listening to Mr. Aizen, Ulquiorra feels nausea rise in his stomach. He remains silent, allowing the older man to continue.

"Then I heard the tale of a family torn apart. A father and a son, in a battle of wills. Gossip had you rebelling against your father's mandate, as sons often do, but then I heard of your reason, to protect your poor unnamed, palsied brother." Mr. Aizen studies him, his eyes sweeping over Ulquiorra from head to toe. He does not move a muscle, returning the older man's stare with blank eyes, waiting.

"So I paid your brother a visit. He really did look like you," Mr. Aizen chuckles. "A shriveled, curled-up version of you, but the eyes were unmistakable. You Cifer men; There is no question of your legitimacy."

"What did you do?" Ulquiorra's voice is flat. If Mr. Aizen killed his brother...

"Nothing, really," the older man replies. "I didn't have to. I bribed the head nurse to tell me when your brother took a turn for the worse. He was dead when I got there."

It is like a sucker punch to the gut. Ulquiorra cannot look at Mr. Aizen right now, fighting for control as he is doing now.

"It's sad," Mr. Aizen continues, "I found out about his death before you did."

Ulquiorra stares at the ground, knowing that Mr. Aizen is trying to provoke him, and successfully too. "So you knew, then. When I almost fell in front of the bus." So all of his actions, ever since, were manipulated. He never really had any free will.

"You're a smart boy, Ulquiorra. You were definitely a pain to follow around in the snow. I had Luppi and Nnoitra take shifts the first few hours tracking you." Orihime shifts in Mr. Aizen's lap. Almost tenderly, he pushes a lock of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear. Ulquiorra does not betray his emotions, choosing to focus on the other man's conversation. But he is determined to punish him for touching Orihime.

He glances at the box on the table. "I opened the files of Sora Inoue," he says instead, changing the subject.

"And? What did you find?" He has Mr. Aizen's full, undivided attention now.

"He had copies of contracts that you pursued, deeds to properties acquired through coercion, and photos of you bribing city officials. He also had pictures of you with Momo Hinamori, as well as recordings of the deals you made illegally," Ulquiorra informs him. "There were notes on the gang's activities. It looks like he had placed the Arrancars under surveillance for at least six months."

The older man is pleased. "Ever loyal and thorough, aren't you? Even after what I just told you. I chose you well, Ulquiorra. It was not an accident, that I pulled you from that half-hearted suicide attempt."

He does not answer, not that Mr. Aizen is expecting a reply. The boss continues, "I, of course, do not trust anyone. It was suspicious when you showed up at the same time as this girl; normally you are meticulous about following orders to the letter. But it all works out in the end; you see, I want you to be the one to pull the trigger and take her life."

 

* * *

 

Consciousness comes back to Orihime in slow stages. The first stage: the chill in the air, causing goosebumps to pebble on her skin. The second: male voices, above her somehow. One low and curt, and the other, a somewhat sinister drawl that makes her want to slip back into darkness. The third stage is a sharp and piercing pain to her head, that cuts through the fog that shrouds her.

Gasping, she raises a hand to her eyes, trying to ease the jackhammering from inside her skull. "Good," someone murmurs from nearby, "you're awake."

"Head-" she whimpers, curling up into a little ball slowly. More muscles scream in protest as the memories of her abduction come flooding back.

"Does your head hurt, princess?" Orihime goes still when she recognizes the dulcet tones of Mr. Aizen. The throbbing gets worse, so she cracks open one eye to make sure she did not imagine him. She seems to be lying on a couch, her head on his lap. The light blinds her, so she slaps both palms on her eyes, hissing in agony.

"Oh, aren't you adorable. It's a shame, really," Mr. Aizen murmurs, his fingers playing with her hair. Her skin crawls, but the tranquilizer has slowed her reaction time. "Now you were a naughty girl, Orihime. Did you honestly think you could accuse me of all those things in front of Kuchiki and those journalists, and think you would go unpunished?"

"Mr. Aizen," a cool voice breaks into the conversation. Oh God, Ulquiorra is here. Mr. Aizen slips a hand around her throat possessively, as if it were a collar and she was his pet. Panic has Orihime hyperventilating; it is the only thing her body can do right now. "Do you think that eliminating the woman would be productive? There are witnesses who can provide evidence of your motive against her, such as Chairman Kuchiki."

"Are you trying to save her, Ulquiorra?" The silky voice has her trembling. His fingers tighten around her throat. Headache forgotten, she claws at his hand to fight for air. She is too weak still, too sedated to do much. Black spots dance around the edges of her vision before he releases her.

"I am trying to understand your logic," Ulquiorra replies. "If you finish her off now, it would be messy. Would it not be better to wait?"

"Ah, but I am not going to finish her off just yet. I like playing with my toys." He combs through her hair with his fingers, leaning over to kiss the side of her mouth. Her chest is still heaving as she sucks in lungsful of air, tears dripping steadily down her cheeks.

"P-please," she whispers, pushing up into a sitting position. The sedative causes her head to spin. Fighting the urge to sway and fall, Orihime is tired of being a helpless maiden. If she is to die, then she would prefer to die on her feet, fighting for her life.

Mr. Aizen crosses his arms, observing her. "What do you want to do, Princess? Are you trying to escape?" She leans forward, attempting to get off the couch and on to her feet. "Really? Do you think you can get away?" he scoffs.

She glances at him and then rises on unsteady legs, swaying. Ulquiorra's figure is a black and green blur in front of her, but she totters towards him, raising her arms to reach for him. She loses her balance, but Ulquiorra moves to catch her. She buries her nose in his chest, gripping his coat.

"It will be alright," Ulquiorra murmurs in her ear as he helps her get to her feet. She regains her balance, trying to focus on his form. In a louder voice, he asks, "What do you wish for me to do with the woman, Mr. Aizen?"

"Bring her back here," the boss commands, patting the chair beside him. Orihime meets Ulquiorra's calm green gaze, and allows him to take her back without a fight. His hands are warm as he arranges her on the couch. She still does not have the strength to sit up straight, so she slumps sideways, but Mr. Aizen slips an arm around her.

"Silly little Hime, what were you doing, trying to run away from me? I still have to show you something." He pulls her into a sitting position, holding her chin up. "Keep an eye on Ulquiorra, over there. See that box that on the table? Those are your brother's files. He was the one who stole them from you, right after you spent the night with him."

Orihime feels the tremors start from deep in her gut, until her whole body is shaking. How does Mr. Aizen know about that? She fights to keep her lips from trembling, unwilling to show him her weakness.

"I ordered him to befriend you, you know," the gang boss whispers into her ear. "And to do anything and everything he could to retrieve that box right there." She feels tears fill her eyes. Ulquiorra stares at her, his green eyes unreadable.

"Ulquiorra," Mr. Aizen raises his voice. "Throw the box into the fireplace." She sucks in a breath, holding it, willing Ulquiorra to disobey.

"Please," she whispers, squeezing her eyes closed. A tear makes it's way down her cheek, followed by another.

"You need to watch this, Princess," Mr. Aizen chides. "You must see how completely loyal Ulquiorra Cifer is to me." Ulquiorra picks up the box, crossing the room to the enormous fireplace, and tossing the box on the flaming logs, without hesitating. The cardboard catches almost immediately, and the whole thing is engulfed in fire within seconds.

"You see," the older man tells her, looping an arm around her shoulders. "I was going to give you to him as a reward, after I had played around with you a bit, of course. But you had to go and open your mouth in front of those journalists, and Byakuya Kuchiki, of all people. That's too bad. If you hadn't... well, it would have ended with the burning of the files, and you would go on, believing that Ulquiorra actually had feelings for you. He's a good actor, isn't he? I'll let you in on a little secret." He leans in the whisper in her ear. "Ulquiorra has no feelings. He's a demon, you know. Those hands that touched you have done unspeakable things."

"No," Orihime protests feebly, pulling away from him. "That's not true."

"Really?" Mr. Aizen raises an eyebrow. "Care to bet on that?"

"Ulquiorra is not a demon," she insists. Her fury causes her to fight the sedative, straightening her spine as she glares at Mr. Aizen. "He is not. He is one of the kindest people I have ever known. You have no right to treat him like... like a tool or a puppet! He has feelings, he is a human being, and you have no right to take that away from him."

Mr. Aizen rises to his feet. "Was she this annoying when you were with her, Ulquiorra?" he drawls, padding over to the whiskey decanter on the side to pour himself a drink. "You must be amazing in bed or something. She's completely gone over you."

Orihime's tear-filled eyes stray to Ulquiorra. Almost imperceptibly he shakes his head. She blinks at him, but he is not looking at her anymore, his fingers fiddling with the pin on his tie. His eyes are on Mr. Aizen, watching as the older man knocks back a second drink.

The phone rings, breaking the silence in the room. Ulquiorra reaches for it, but Mr. Aizen is right beside, picking it up.

"Hello?" Orihime watches the smile fade from the face of the boss. "What do you mean, the police? They can't get in without... Where is Tier?... They have a warrant?" He turns his head sharply to glare at the expressionless Ulquiorra, throwing the whiskey glass against the wall. It shatters, making Orihime flinch. "Hold them off as long as you can."

Hanging up, Mr. Aizen pulls open a drawer, retrieving a gun. "You stupid bitch, is this your doing?" He stalks back to the couch, all traces of the smiling businessman completely gone. It is like a switch has been flipped. The man she sees now is the most dangerous underworld boss in Tokyo. He cocks his gun, aiming at her forehead. "How did you alert the police? Tell me."

Biting her lower lip, Orihime shakes her head. Grabbing her by the neck, Mr. Aizen presses the barrel of the gun to her forehead. "If the police come in, you will tell them you are here visiting me willingly. Any word or gesture you say to alert them, and I take all your little friends in the coffee shop and burn it to the ground with them inside."

She closes her eyes. The cold steel warms against her skin.

"Tell me quickly, how did you summon the police?" Mr. Aizen demands again.

"It was not her," Ulquiorra states suddenly, surprising the boss. "It was I." While Mr. Aizen was distracted, he had approached them. He grabs the hand that is holding the gun, moving it away from Orihime.

"You," Mr. Aizen gasps, his lip curling. "What the hell is this?"

Ulquiorra directs the barrel of the gun to his own chest, meeting Mr. Aizen's brown-eyed gaze steadily.

"I'm going to pull the trigger, bastard." Mr. Aizen growls. "I gave you your life back, and this is how you repay me?"

"Why did you choose me?" Ulquiorra asks him, using force to make the older man back away from the sofa, keeping the gun aimed at a spot in the middle of his own chest. He stops once they are on the far side of the room, away from Orihime.

"What are you doing, idiot?" the boss snarls. "Why did you involve the police?"

Orihime watches, terrified for Ulquiorra's safety, but she knows that if she tries anything, it would only make things worse. Outside, she can hear gunfire and shouting.

"Why did you choose me?" Ulquiorra asks again, intensity etched on his face as he pulls the barrel of the gun deeper into his chest.

"You were my second choice!" Mr. Aizen spits out, disdainfully. "Kuchiki was my first. I had just arranged for his wife to have an accident, but he was stronger than you were. He sneered at me as if I was nothing. You, however, were a sad little boy with daddy issues, so desperate for approval from anyone. You were so pathetic, trying to kill yourself over a brother who was going to die anyway. It was easy, Ulquiorra. I took you, as it were, from the dead, and remolded you into the Cuatro. I see I have failed. But...,"

They scuffle, briefly. Mr. Aizen's fingers tighten on the trigger. There is a loud bang. Orihime sees an explosion of red, spattering her face, and Ulquiorra staggers backwards. She screams.

"You are a tool, and easily replaced," the older man sneers.

"No," Orihime sobs, rushing towards Ulquiorra. He pushes her behind him, eyes steady on his opponent as blood soaks his suit. He pulls out his own weapon, aiming it at Mr. Aizen.

"Stay back," Ulquiorra warns her, coughing out some blood. Before he can take another step, he falls backwards. Orihime catches him before he collapses completely.

 

* * *

 

"Hurry," Ichigo mutters urgently, raising his hand. "I heard a gunshot in there." The SWAT Team kicks the door to the study open, to find Mr. Aizen aiming a gun at Cifer, who is on the ground, cradled by Orihime.

"Sousuke Aizen! Surrender now! Throw down your weapon and put your hands in the air!" Ishida yells, aiming his own gun at the crime boss. Aizen glares at them for a moment, and then obeys. Cifer lowers his weapon to the ground, closing his eyes as he fights to breathe.

Ichigo runs over to the sobbing Orihime. "We need a medic over here! Someone call 911!" he yells, noticing the blood soaking the front of Cifer's shirt.

"Why didn't you defend yourself?" Orihime cries out, touching Ulquiorra's face. "Why did you let him shoot you like that?" She helps Ichigo ease Cifer to the ground so he can give him first aid.

"Told... you...,"Cifer breathes out shallowly, closing his eyes slightly. "You would... get hurt... too dangerous... crossfire..." He flinches as Ichigo applies pressure to the wound, using a stack of linen napkins from nearby.

"Don't strain yourself," Ichigo orders, worried by the loss off blood. He has seen enough gunshot wounds, as a police officer, to know that if help does not arrive soon, Cifer could die.

The blood soaks through the napkins quickly, and Cifer's breathing is getting shallower and shallower. "Get the damned medic here!" he hollers out again.

Behind them, Aizen is led away in handcuffs. He smirks viciously at the sight of Cifer. Ishida joins them, his face grim.

"Tell her... go...," Cifer breathes out, gripping Ichigo's arm.

"Take Orihime away," Ichigo orders. Cifer is fading fast. He does not want her to watch the other man die, considering the strangely intimate relationship these two have with each other.

"No!" Her denial is immediate, as she slaps Ishida's hands away. "I will stay! I won't leave him!" Uryuu nods to his partner, understanding the situation. He picks her up forcefully, but she claws at him like a wild animal, tears streaming down her face.

"No, I'm not going to leave Ulquiorra!" she shrieks, diving to her knees to grip Ulquiorra's bloodied hand. "Please, Ulquiorra, I'm right here, please don't go away," Orihime sobs desperately. Ichigo and Uryuu both avert their eyes, to give them both a semblance of privacy.

The ghost of a smirk crosses the pale man's lips, smeared with flecks blood. "In the... end... You never did... what I wanted...," he coughs again, fighting for air. She shakes her head, closing her eyes briefly.

"Are you... afraid of me... woman?" Cifer whispers, almost soundlessly.

"No," Orihime presses his hand to her wet cheek, kissing his palm. "I'm not afraid."

He locks his gaze onto hers. "My... heart... It was... right here... in my hand," he gasps, coughing out more blood, before falling back, unconscious.

"No, stay with me, Ulquiorra!" Orihime begs, her face crumpling. "Come back, please." Her whole body is wracked with heartbroken sobs as she buries her face in Ulquiorra's limp hand.

"Damn it!" Ichigo turns desperate eyes on Ishida. "Where is that medic?"

"Here!" An orange jumpsuit-clad man scurries inside, pushing a large gurney. "Hanatarou here. Gunshot wound?" A second paramedic follows closely at his heels, bearing a large first-aid kit.

"Yes." Ichigo shoots Uryuu another look. This time Orihime allows herself to be taken outside the room, soul-deep sobs wracking her frame. "He just lost consciousness now." With a nod, the medic takes over.

...


	17. Chapter 17

**.**

**XVII.**

**.**

 

"Inspector Kurosaki, Inspector Ishida, someone here to see you." Ururu says, sticking her head into their cubicle.

"Who is it?" Ishida asks, pulling his eyeglasses off to massage the bridge of his nose.

"She says her name is Nemu Kurotsuchi," the pigtailed police officer responds. "Should I show her in?"

Ichigo stretches, feeling his spine pop. "Fine, go ahead." It has been 16 hours since the shooting of Ulquiorra Cifer. The search of Aizen's compound has yielded some evidence, but they do not know if it is enough. "Do you know who she is, Ishida?"

"No," Ishida replies, getting to his feet. "But I suppose we shall find out soon enough."

"Let me just wrap this up, you go ahead and meet her first," Ichigo tells him, saving the open documents on his computer. Ishida nods, taking his laptop with him to the conference room.

Five minutes later, he enters the room to find Ishida fiddling with the power button of his laptop while speaking to a dark-haired woman who looks vaguely familiar. "Have you tried turning it off and on again?" she asks, hands folded neatly in her lap.

Ishida scoffs, "Do I look like an idiot to you? Of course I did that." She gives him a raised eyebrow, unimpressed.

Ichigo decides to break into the conversation before any blood is shed. "Ahem. Hello, I am Ichigo Kurosaki," he interjects, forcing a smile on his face. The woman rises, shaking his offered hand.

"My name is Nemu Kurotsuchi, and I am President Ulquiorra Cifer's assistant." She gestures towards the box beside her. "I was instructed to bring the original files of Sora Inoue to you, Inspector Kurosaki, if anything happened...," her voice breaks for a moment, so briefly Ichigo is not sure if he imagined it, "to President Cifer."

"Oh, thank you. How is he doing?" Ichigo runs his hand over his face, feeling the stubble of his chin.

"They managed to revive him ninety seconds after his heart stopped, on the ambulance," the woman states, lowering her eyes. "He is still in critical condition. The next 48 hours will be crucial, but he has already been in surgery twice. It is hard to say at this point."

"Miss Kurotsuchi...," Ichigo has to ask. "Do you know who the next of kin is? We will need to inform them... if...," he does not complete the grim sentence.

"His estranged father, Sadao Cifer, is in Europe. President Ulquiorra Cifer has made it clear that we are not to contact him for any reason, and when he assumed the presidency, he gave me power of attorney, as a precaution. He also insisted on writing his will, but that is normal for people in that position." The woman looks troubled. "It is almost as if he was expecting something to happen."

"I see," Ishida comments. There is a lull in conversation as they are all lost in their own thoughts.

"Will you be needing anything else from me?" Miss Kurotsuchi asks briskly.

"We have the recordings from Cifer's tie-pin. He was very good about getting Mr. Aizen to talk about his murder of Hisana Kuchiki, and we have enough evidence now to put him away for the kidnapping of Orihime Inoue and the attempted murder of Cifer. The bulk of the charges will come from Sora Inoue's files, of that there is no doubt. But there was no need to bring us the originals, Cifer had given us the scanned documents."

Almost simultaneously, both the woman and Ishida stare at him incredulously. "Are you serious?" Ishida snorts. "And you call yourself a police officer?"

"What?" Ichigo scowls at him.

"Scanned documents are not admissible in court, nor are copies of recordings," the woman tells him, shaking her head. "You most certainly need originals."

"Would you believe he is engaged to the district attorney?" Ishida mutters, finally booting up his laptop.

"Really?" Nemu looks at Ichigo skeptically. "I suppose someone has to be the brains in that relationship."

Embarrassed, Ichigo grabs a yogurt from the fridge in the corner, stabbing a straw into it. "Here, have a yogurt drink."

She glares at the yogurt in his hand. "Did you shake it? To prevent sedimentation? And you touched the straw. That is unhygienic." Ichigo's eyes fly to Ishida, whose cheeks are pink as he studies the woman across him. Unbelievable. There is another of Ishida's species. "I must head back to the hospital soon. Miss Inoue is there, and I do not wish to leave her alone." She heads for the door.

"Wait," Ichigo calls after her.

"Yes?" She pauses.

"Can we get your number? In case we have any questions?" Ichigo asks guilelessly.

"Oh, yes, here is my card." She fishes around in her purse, pulling out a leather card case.

"Oh no, I seem to have forgotten all my cards at my desk. Hey, Ishida, give her your business card," Ichigo smiles. Ishida glares at him as he hands the girl his business card. After exchanging bows, the woman leaves. "Feel free to call him anytime!" he calls after her.

"I know what you're doing," Ishida mutters, closing his laptop with a snap.

"No idea what you're talking about," Ichigo gives him an innocent look. Ishida walks away, muttering words like  _inappropriate_  and  _meddlesome_  under his breath.

 

* * *

 

It has been the worst week of Orihime's life, no question. She has memorized the number of tiles on the floor outside the ICU (473 in the hallway) and knows it takes 124 steps to circle the nurse's station and the ward. She is sitting in the fire exit staircase now, eating her cold bento. There are 16 stairs between each floor, except for the floor leading to the ICU, which has 15.

Her mind goes back to the conversation with Nemu. Dr. Unohana could not talk to her directly because she was not related to him, but Nemu has kindly relayed the facts. Emergency surgery revealed that the bullet had gone through, shattering his collarbone and damaging some tissue but not hitting anything major.

If the bullet had been a few millimetres in any direction, he would not have made it. The cold gnawing grief she had felt when she thought he had died comes back, and she has to stop chewing, afraid she will throw up.

As it is, they have to retrieve the shattered collarbones and rebuild his ribs. They induced a coma yesterday to ease the shock to his system. Her mind goes back to the first time they allowed her to see him, two days ago. He had looked unbelievably fragile and colorless, hooked up to all those tubes and machines, as if he was made of glass. Twenty minutes was all they had allotted for her, and she had used that time to memorize his features, grateful that he was fighting for his life.

She finishes her bento quickly. She is allowed half an hour with him today, and she does not want to waste even a second of it.

The nurses help her suit up in scrubs and a mask and gloves, and then she enters the sealed room., sketchpad and pencil in hand.

"Hello, Ulquiorra," she greets, standing beside him. The room is cold and quiet except for the incessant beeps of the machinery, and his slow, labored breathing assisted by the ventilator. "It's me, Orihime." She kisses her gloved fingers through the mask, pressing it to the only exposed skin that she feels is safe enough to touch, his fingertips. "I know you're in there, and you can hear me. Thank you for being alive, Ulquiorra."

Orihime takes the only seat in the room, studying the man in the bed. He has such long lashes, she notes enviously, but his cheeks have hollowed out. "I'm not going to cry in front of you anymore, Ulquiorra," she tells him with a quiet laugh. "You've seen me cry too many times, you must think I'm like a watering can. I promise, no more tears, just come back."

She remembers the first time she kissed him, completely by accident, and her pencil draws it quickly, flying over the sheet of paper. Her astonished eyes, and the messy fall of his hair, and the shock on both their faces emerge from her drawing. With a grin, she shows it to his closed eyes. "Remember this?" she asks him with a wry smile. "I was so shocked. And you wiped your lips, making that face. I was so mad I hit you."

The knock on the door tells her that her time is up. With a sigh, Orihime rises to her feet, touching the handkerchief next to his head, which contain her hairpins. "I'll see you again tomorrow, Ulquiorra. Please be here then." She leans in to whisper in his ear, "I love you." Tucking the sketchpad under her arm, she heads out again.

 

* * *

 

On the third week of Ulquiorra's coma, his condition is stable enough that they move him out of Intensive Care, into a private suite, complete with it's own bathroom and balcony, as befitting the president of Cifer Corp.

Orihime is running late, since she was asked by Ichigo and Rukia to hand in her statement in regards to her kidnapping. Having to relive that day is stressful, but because it would help put Mr. Aizen away, she steels herself and recites all the details she can remember. It is a grueling two-hour interview; even if Ishida is as gentle as he can be with her, he also has to be thorough.

On her way out, she almost stumbles down the stairs of the police station, only to be caught by an astonished Grimmjow. "Hime-chan, are you okay?"

She can only stare in shock at his familiar face. "G-grimmy..." He gives her a lopsided grin, helping her to her feet. "Are you here for the interview as well?" She notes that he is no longer wearing a sling; in fact, he is not in the white suit anymore.

"Yep, just finished." he replies, falling into step beside her. "Heading over to visit Ulquiorra, though. Do you want to come?"

"Yes, I was heading there as well," Orihime tells him. He escorts her to where his car is parked haphazardly. She freezes in her steps, remembering how terrifying his driving can be. "Um... I just remembered. I was going to do something. An errand!"

"Great, I'll drive you there!" Grimmjow opens the door. "I'm not in any particular hurry, after all. It's just old sour-face that we're visiting. What did Chizuru call him? Grumpy Cat?"

Orihime tries not to cringe in fear. It would be too impolite to back out now, and she has to admit that she missed her friend. Taking a bracing breath, she climbs into the car, slipping on the seatbelt immediately. Her hands lock around the door handle and the seat edge, knuckles whitening from the tightness of her grip. Grimmjow grins at her. "You okay, Hime-chan? Where are we going?"

She flashes him a weak smile and a thumbs-up. "Um... Just to the hospital, then. I can do my errand later."

And they are off. Orihime has to bite back screams of terror a couple of times. She can barely pay attention to the steady stream of conversation coming from Grimmjow; she is too busy praying in her head.

The Jaguar drifts into the hospital parking lot, slotting neatly into a reserved space. "We're here!" Grimmjow crows, hopping out of the car. Orihime has to unclench her fingers; she is sure that there are giant circles of sweat on her shirt right now, even with it being mid-winter.

She follows Grimmjow into the hospital, still trying to calm down the adrenaline racing through her system. They step into the elevator, squeezing around a nurse pushing a patient in a wheelchair, and a group of medical students with their professor.

"I don't think I've ever seen you in casual clothes, Grimm," Orihime comments.

Grimmjow nods. "Yeah, with the boss in jail and everything, we're now a target for the other gangs," he tells her. The other people in the elevator furtively move away, clearing a space around the two of them. "It's great though, I don't have to wear a white suit. It was hell getting the blood out of that. And since Tier took over, we really don't do a lot of hits or attacks anymore. She's actually pretty great, as the new president of Las Noches."

Orihime smiles weakly at the crowd shrinking away from them. The elevator empties as soon as it hits the next floor, but Grimmjow is oblivious. Finally, they hit their floor, and register with the nurses' desk.

"Have you visited since..." Orihime asks in a low voice.

Grimmjow shakes his head, tightening his lips. "This is the first time. I couldn't visit him before; it was too crazy, what with giving depositions and statements and such. The trial's coming up."

She nods. She can also see how anxious Grimmjow is getting, the closer they approach the door to Ulquiorra's suite. "Do you want to go in first?" he asks, opening the door. She can tell he does not want to be alone with Ulquiorra in that state.

"Let's go together," she tells him. He agrees, looking relieved. The room is much brighter than the ICU, and they are not required to suit up for this visit. Ulquiorra is still pale and helpless.

Grimmjow stares at him for a long minute, then shrugs. "Well, there's really not much difference between now and when he's awake. The bastard's still pretty quiet. He must like it, wherever he is. Nobody bothering him." He strolls over to the bedside, leaning over Ulquiorra's face. "Yo, Ulq." The hiss of the ventilator is his only response. "If you don't wake up, I'll kiss you."

Orihime watches, wide-eyed, as Grimm bends over and kisses the exposed tip of Ulquiorra's nose. Then he makes a disgusted face, grabbing some kleenexes and wiping his lips and tongue. He looks like a cat that ate something disagreeable, trying desperately to scrape his mouth. "Aargh. I need to wash my mouth out." He notices Orihime's face, and throws his hands up in the air. "No, no, I don't swing that way," he insists before she can say anything. "I just wanted to see if he was faking." She just stares at him in shock.

"Anyway, I'm going to head out now. I'll be back soon. We should hang out again, Hime-chan. Bye!" He is out the door before she can reply, his face glowing.

Grabbing the sketchpad and her pens, she begins to draw the scene she just witnessed.

 

* * *

 

December comes fast and Ulquiorra remains unconscious. Orihime quickly fills a sketchpad with memories of Ulquiorra. Midway through the month, Orihime is chatting with Nemu about holiday plans, when Nemu drops the bomb. "Oh, the President's birthday was the first of the month."

That sets off a panic in Orihime. She plans a small get-together with Tier, Nemu and Grimmjow. They meet up on Christmas Eve to celebrate. It goes unsaid that this might be Ulquiorra's last birthday, so everyone decides to pitch in.

Tier and Grimmjow shows up with boxed dinners for everyone, and Nemu provides the cake and sparklers. Orihime brings the iPod given to her by Mr. Aizen.

"Let's sing happy birthday!" she tells everyone, lighting the candles on the cake. They all sing, and make the same wish, that Ulquiorra wakes up. Then, Grimmjow blows the candles out, and the four of them head to the balcony to light the fireworks.

"It's okay to cry," Tier tells Orihime as they wave the sparklers in the gently falling snow. The taller woman squeezes her shoulder, knowing about the promise Orihime made. "He isn't looking; we're outside."

Orihime looks at the bright little sparks through tear-filled eyes, but she does not let them fall. "Happy birthday, and merry Christmas, Ulquiorra," she says instead, wondering if Ulquiorra is lonely, wherever he is. He has been in a coma now for a month.

 

* * *

 

On New Year's Eve, Orihime slips away from the temple visit with Chizuru and Tatsuki to bring Ulquiorra a lucky amulet. The streets are busy this last night of the year, and it has been a cold winter. She runs into Nemu, who is on her way out.

"Happy new year!" she greets the other woman gaily. It is laughable now, to Orihime, how jealous she had been of Nemu at the Kuchiki gala. Nemu has been steadfast and dependable, even as she stepped in as interim president for Cifer Corp. She comes for an hour every day to make sure everything is alright, even with the insane schedule that she now has to deal with. Ulquiorra's coma is being kept under wraps from the public, and they concocted a story of an extended business trip. She and Tier are now working closely together to reassure their investors, especially now with news of Mr. Aizen's trial coming up in the middle of January.

Nemu bows at her, with a small smile. "Miss Orihime, happy new year as well. Mr. Jaegerjacques is upstairs with President Cifer."

"Oh, do you have plans?" she asks. To her surprise, Nemu turns pink.

"Um, I am meeting with Police Inspector Ishida," she replies, averting her eyes.

"Oh? Is it about the case? He really should realize that people have holidays," Orihime says with some concern. "Should I call him and tell him to reschedule?"

"N-no, that will be quite alright," Nemu tells her, scurrying off. Orihime waves at her retreating back, and heads inside.

Sure enough, Grimmjow is passed out at Ulquiorra's bedside, his tousled blue hair contrasting sharply against the dark grey blanket. Two cans of beer fill the room with the yeasty smell. Sighing, she picks them up. One is empty, and one is untouched. She pours out the full one, wrinkling her nose as she tosses the cans into the recycling bin.

The iPod blasts out the Moonlight Sonata, making her smile. "Happy new year, Ulquiorra," she whispers, tucking the amulet under his pillow. She settles on the chair by the window that she now calls her favourite, wrapping herself up in a thick blanket. Then she pulls out her sketchpad, remembering the time they had run into each other at the cemetery the first time, and he had backed her up against the wall. His eyes were dark green, the colour of the forest at night. Her fingers sketch him out from memory, the look of intent clear on his face.

 

She wakes up, disoriented, not quite sure what woke her up. Then she hears it, the frantic whine of the heart rate monitor. Orihime jerks up, the blanket falling to the ground.

The door bursts open, and Dr. Unohana sprints in, followed by three nurses. "His heart has stopped," a nurse informs the doctor, shaking Grimmjow awake. The other nurse herds them both out of the way, closing the door in their faces.

"Grimmy," Orihime whispers, clutching his hand in her icy grip. "What's going on?" They can hear the staff working frantically inside the room. Another nurse runs inside, pushing a crash cart. Grimmjow rakes a hand through his hair, making it even wilder.

"We should call Nemu," she decides, fishing in her pocket for her smartphone. Her hands are shaking too much to dial, so Grimmjow takes the phone from her and talks to Nemu in short, sharp sentences.

The doors open, and Ulquiorra is wheeled out while Dr. Unohana pumps his lungs manually. "He's going into surgery," a nurse informs them, trailing behind with the crash cart. "We cannot tell you anything more."

Orihime's knees give out; she would have crashed to the ground if not for Grimmjow's reflexes. "Are you alright?" he asks.

"He's alive," she sobs, unbearably happy and afraid at the same time. "He's still fighting to come back."

They meet Nemu, and strangely enough, Uryuu Ishida, outside the surgical rooms. Nemu has a quick conference with the nurses, and comes back to report that Ulquiorra has pneumonia and a ruptured blood vessel, which they are repairing right now. It will be a three-hour procedure, before they move Ulquiorra back into intensive care.

 

Three hours turns into four, and then five, and the surgery doors remain closed. Grimmjow and Orihime keep their vigil on the bench outside, while Nemu and Ishida head home. He heads to the vending machine, to grab a couple of cans of coffee. She accepts one thankfully, curling her cold fingers around it for warmth.

"Hey, Grimmy?" she ventures, resting her chin on her knees.

"Eh, Hime?" He leans back against the wall, eyes on the glass doors.

"How long have you known Ulquiorra?" Orihime asks, sipping her coffee.

A lopsided grin crosses Grimmjow's face. "About seven years, I would say."

"What was he like before?"

Grimmjow chuckles. "Ulq was a mean bastard when I met him, but he was so tiny. And he would glare at you with those eyes, like they were lasers. Man, the first time Mr. Aizen brought him on, he was this skinny little thing, but you could see the determination burning in him. Not the most sociable of coworkers, our Ulquiorra. Except... he always had my back. I hated him for being so full of himself. Who the hell does he think he is?"

He pauses, taking a swig from his coffee. "He was a downright asshole, mostly because he was always right. His judgment is always 100% correct. He treats me like an annoying kid brother, like I was stupid. As if he is that much older than me. He's still a kid himself." He looks at the can in his hands, scowling. "Smug bastard. He saved my life a few times. I still have to pay him back for that. He can't... He can't die before I pay him back."

He looks so sad that Orihime reaches over to pat his head. "He'll be fine, Grimm. He's still fighting, in there," she tells him. "He's trying to come back to us."

Grimmjow's head crashes on her shoulder, like a little boy leaning on his mother. "Do you really think so?" he asks, finishing off his coffee. "I don't know... what I would do... by myself."

Orihime leans her cheek on his head, both of their eyes fixed on the doors. "I don't know what I would do without him, either."

 

 

On the tenth hour, the doors open, and the nurses wheel Ulquiorra into Intensive Care again. Nobody is allowed to see him for five days, while he battles infection and pneumonia.

Orihime comes every day, sitting outside his door, filling her sketchpad with drawings of their memories together: kissing him on the roof, eating street ramen, walking with him through the empty halls of the Nezu museum.

 

 

Finally, on the sixth day, Ulquiorra is stable enough to be moved back to a private suite, although they choose one without a balcony to avoid the recurrence of his pneumonia. Orihime sits in the room, studying him for hours. He is even paler now, his skin translucent enough to show the blue veins pulsating underneath, and each breath sounds like a battle.

Her thoughts go back to that night, to his hand on her cheek, smearing blood on her face. "My heart," he had said before blacking out, "it was right here in my hand." She bites her lower lip, trying not to cry. Was that his way of telling her he loved her? Her gaze drifts back to the thick fringe of his eyelashes and his long straight nose, her heart constricting.

"Come back to me," she whispers to him, running her fingertips over the curve of his thumb.

 

 

January passes uneventfully. The ward nurses have gotten to know Orihime as the girl who visits President Cifer and brings the pastries. They note how cheerful she is all the time, although one of them whispers that she seems to be fading away, just as the patient is. There is speculation on her relationship with President Cifer, but the consensus seems to be that she is his girlfriend, since Nemu Kurotsuchi is well known in the wards as the tyrant assistant of the patient.

Some nights, Orihime is even allowed to sleep over in the suite. Dr. Unohana tells her that it is good to talk to Ulquiorra, as it keeps his brain stimulated. She takes the advice to heart and talks to him for hours and hours about nothing in particular, and when her voice gives out, she uses the iPod to play him some classical music. Sometimes, hoping to provoke him, she plays kpop and western pop.

The nurses have also assigned her the task of shaving him. Orihime finds that Ulquiorra grows facial hair at a surprising rate. She has to shave him daily, lest he end up looking like a hipster. She is paranoid about cutting him by accident, but thankfully gets the hang of it right away. Here, at least, is something she can do for him.

"I wonder what you would do," she giggles, smoothing the shaving cream over the dark hairs of his jaw, "if you woke up with a beard like Santa Claus?" She has to shave carefully, as there is a tube in his mouth. "Ah, when we're old, Ulquiorra, will you grow your beard out? I'd like to see that." There is something so intimate about shaving Ulquiorra's face; she feels like an archeologist, exposing a long-buried statue covered in vines. She has to laugh at her fanciful imaginings.

After that she commits that image to paper, in her growing stack of sketchpads in the corner. She is now at the hospital more often than her own home; she goes straight to work from there, and back. Nemu has been amazingly helpful, going so far as to have the suite furnished with a wardrobe for Orihime's use.

 

* * *

 

Right before Valentine's day, Ichigo and Rukia visit Ulquiorra. They have both seen Orihime outside, at the coffee shop and the police station, but this is the first time they've come to the hospital.

"Hi, Orihime!" Rukia greets, hugging her. Ichigo waves as well, carrying a basket of flowers. They chat for a few minutes, but Orihime can tell that Ichigo is troubled by the way he keeps glancing at Ulquiorra.

"Did you want to speak with him?" she asks gently.

Rukia squeezes his hand as Ichigo forces a smile out. "It's strange seeing him like this. The last time I saw him, we weren't sure if he was going to make it or not. He died under my hands, that night. It still haunts me. I'm glad he is here," he exhales, looking at the figure on the bed. "But it doesn't feel like he's here, do you know what I mean?"

Orihime nods, understanding exactly where he is coming from. "It is strange. He's gone away to a place I can't reach, and I'm terrified that he won't be able to find his way back," she confides, holding back tears.

"He'll make his way back, I'm sure," Rukia reassures her. "He's always found his way to you, hasn't he?"

"Rukia, I don't even know what we are. We were never officially dating," Orihime admits. "There was never any relationship discussions. For all I know, he finds me annoying."

Ichigo frowns. "That's not what I saw in that room, Orihime," he interjects. "I saw a man who would have given his life for you. That's definitely not hate. Do you remember what he last said? Don't doubt anything until you've had a chance to talk to him."

Orihime laughs tearfully. "Wow, you're defending him now. I'm glad you've changed your opinion of him, Ichigo. And you're right. I'll be here until he wakes." The conversation lapses into a lull, so Orihime asks, "What brings you two here?"

Rukia and Ichigo exchange a look. "Well, three reasons, actually," Ichigo says, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "First is business. This is not common knowledge, but we hooked up Ulquiorra with a microphone. We did not have much time since you were already at Aizen's, so we just clipped a mic to his tie-pin. He gave us first-hand audio of Mr. Aizen confessing to numerous crimes."

Rukia crosses her arms, a look of pain in her eyes. "We had no idea he had killed my sister, for example," she adds, her face grim. " But rest assured, I will be the one to put him behind bars, and lock him away for good. We just need you to confirm that the audio tapes are authentic. You are the only witness to these conversations."

"Of course," Orihime responds immediately. "I have work tomorrow but I can come to your office afterwards, at three?"

"Excellent. The trial will be in a few weeks and we need every piece of evidence to be airtight. Next up is...," Rukia reaches for Ichigo's hand. "We've finally set a date for our wedding. It'll be on September 15th." With a happy squeal, Orihime hugs both of them. It is bittersweet. She knows that life goes on for other people, even when she feels that her own is at a standstill.

"Which brings us to the third reason why we're here... Orihime, will you please be my bridesmaid?" Rukia looks apprehensive and a bit nervous. "I don't have many female friends, and I know you haven't known me for a very long time, but I really feel close to you now." She is cut off by Orihime's hug.

"Are you kidding? Of course I'll be your bridesmaid!" Orihime tells her, hugging her tightly. They chat a little longer about dresses and weddings, before the couple heads out.

"I hope you and Cifer can make it in September!" Rukia chirps, her face glowing now. "But I'll see you before then, of course."

"See you tomorrow," Ichigo butts in, waving goodbye.

Orihime waves back, closing the door with a sigh. seems so far away. "You better wake up by then, Ulquiorra," she tells the unconscious man. "I'm going to need a date for that wedding."

 

* * *

 

In early March, Nemu's phone rings as she is preparing for the day's meetings. It is Dr. Unohana.

"Is it President Cifer?" she asks, sending the assistants out of the office.

"No," the doctor replies, "But I wanted to discuss Miss Inoue with you. I am not her doctor, only President Cifer's. How is she related to you or the President?"

Nemu sits down, not quite sure how to answer this. "Is there a problem, Doctor?"

"As a doctor, it is my duty to help everyone," Dr. Unohana sighs. "And I had to ask if she is related, because I need to know if I can intervene directly. Orihime is a sweet girl, and there is no question that she loves the president. But she is not in a healthy situation."

"What do you mean?" Nemu asks, folding her arms.

"She is here every day, sometimes for days, and yet she barely eats anything. It is my understanding that she also works somewhere. Miss Inoue does not sleep much, and just the other day there was a slight malfunction with the President's ventilator and she pretty much had an anxiety attack. The visitors of the president do help, but most of the time it is just Miss Inoue. Frankly, I am worried for her health, both physical and mental," Dr. Unohana admits. "I do not know how long this can keep up."

"I'll go talk to her," Nemu promises.

"Please do. I've had another case where the patient was in a coma and his wife had given up on her own life, so when he didn't make it, she followed soon after. I'm not saying President Cifer is in danger; I am just worried that Miss Inoue might be giving up too much of herself."

"I understand, doctor. Thank you for informing me. I shall speak with her today." Nemu hangs up, feeling troubled. She thinks back to the last time she saw Orihime, yesterday. The girl has lost weight, this is true, and there are dark circles under her eyes. She knows that the girl lives alone; that there is nobody to look after her. The President would be furious if anything happened to her.

 

* * *

 

"Nemu, thanks for inviting me to lunch!" Orihime beams, sliding into the chair across from the dark-haired girl. She holds up the coffee cup to the waiter as he pours the steaming dark liquid, and for some reason, the cup rattles in her hand. The tremors have been coming more and more frequently lately, but they are probably due to drawing too much, she thinks, putting it out of her mind.

Nemu followed her gaze and is now studying her hands. Orihime puts down her coffee with a thump. "How much coffee have you had today, Miss Inoue?" Nemu asks, unfolding her napkin with an economy of movement.

"Hmmm... good question," Orihime laughs. "Um, this is probably my fourth. I had a couple with breakfast, and then one before this. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, you've already had breakfast?" Nemu stares at her questioningly.

"Ah, it was just a banana. I didn't want to leave Ulquiorra for too long," Orihime waves off the inquiry, munching on a piece of bread. She stops moving when Nemu grabs her hand.

"Miss Inoue, when was the last time you slept in your own bed, for more than four hours?" Nemu asks pointedly, her face serious.

"What's this about?" Orihime shoots back, buttering her bread savagely. Why is Nemu doing this now? She feels a flutter of anxiety at the thought of Ulquiorra, all alone in the room. Three months have passed and still he sleeps, and Orihime is afraid.

"Miss Inoue, I apologize, but the doctor has requested that you visit President Cifer less," the dark-haired woman states, her eyes clear and determined.

"What?" Orihime feels her stomach clench. "I don't understand."

"You are not related to President Cifer, and he has not named you in any of his documentation as possessing any legal rights to his property or person," Nemu tells her bluntly. "The doctor feels that your health is in jeopardy as well. Miss Inoue," her gaze softens. "We aren't telling you to stop coming altogether. Just to visit less, for your sake and his. If the media were to find out that you were sleeping in his hospital room for extended periods...,"

"I don't care about the media," Orihime whispers, stricken.

"But he would, if they dragged your name and his through the mud," Nemu points out. "And, Miss Inoue, this is not healthy for you or for him."

Orihime stares at the other woman in shock, realizing that she is correct. "I... I'm sorry," she stammers out, face glowing from shame. "You are right, I'll stop visiting him for a while. I have a lot of things to do anyway. Thanks for telling me this." She rises from her seat, bowing. "Um, I have to go."

 

* * *

 

Orihime's feet lead her across the city, her mind preoccupied by the man lying so still in the hospital bed. Nemu had spoken the truth, that Orihime did not have any right to be at Ulquiorra's bedside. She was not family, nor had he ever made any commitments to her. She is calmer now, seeing the truth in Nemu's words. This is not healthy.

Conversely, she is restless, unable to sit still knowing that he is unconscious in that bed, and that she is unable to touch him.

She passes the Nezu Museum gates, remembering the bloodshed that occurred here, and the look on Ulquiorra's face as he had picked her up and taken her to the car. He has always handled her gently, as if she was made of glass. She walks faster, putting it behind her.

Walking past the TV station where she had told him about her life, she gets on the train, squeezing into the rush-hour traffic. At this time of the night, people are leaving for home. She people-watches until she arrives at her next stop, waving at the ramen lady as she wanders out, feeling the chill of spring in the air.

The next landmark she passes is the Cifer Corp building. Grimmjow had mentioned once that Ulquiorra's office was in the penthouse. She cranes her neck, trying to see the top of the building, but in this fog it is impossible to see. He is on a completely different level from her, in more ways than one.

The Cifer Corp building is in a familiar part of town, and Orihime goes on auto-pilot, finding herself in front of the coffee shop. "I'm not even working today," she laughs aloud to herself, pushing the front door open.

Tatsuki and Chad are on duty. They greet her enthusiastically. "You're such a workaholic," Tatsuki snorts as she takes Orihime's order. "12 hours ahead of your shift." Orihime nods weakly, moving to the end of the counter.

"Hime-chan, how are you?" Chad rumbles, looking at her with some concern. She takes the latte from him, forcing a smile on her face. She cannot meet his eyes.

"I'm fine, Chad." Her voice comes out normal sounding, but he still reaches over, patting her on the head. The cafe is full, so she looks around for an available seat. As luck would have it, the stool by the window is open, the one that she has always thought of as Ulquiorra's.

She heads over, placing the cup and saucer on the smooth countertop facing the window. It doesn't feel right to take his seat yet. She remembers all the times he would sit right here, staring out the glass window towards the street, sipping his espresso. Her heart twists at the memory. This is the farthest seat from the counter, she remembers, glancing over her shoulder to smile at Tatsuki again, who is watching her worriedly. Did he really dislike her that much at the beginning?

It feels disrespectful to sit on this stool, while Ulquiorra is not able to. But she misses him so much, that she wants to feel him, in this space, a tenuous connection to the man she loves. She sits, bracing her feet on the horizontal bar, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. She remembers his scent, every time she delivered his coffee, woodsy and masculine. There is a tiny comfort she takes, just from being in this spot. Exhaling, she opens her eyes, and then she cannot breathe.

Every Tuesday night at seven, Ulquiorra would come and sit on this spot, tucked away from the main part of the coffee shop. During the daylight, it is probably the best spot to watch people pass outside, without being on the patio. But at night…

She covers her mouth with her hand, tears filling her eyes. When it is dark, the window glass reflects the scene inside, as clear as a mirror, and she can see Chad and Tatsuki clearly. This spot has the most direct reflection of the space behind the counter. Was he watching her, all this time? He never sat anywhere else, unless he was with company, almost as if he was afraid other people would find out about his secret.

Orihime's tears spill down her cheeks, as she wonders if he wanted to keep her to himself. The image of a lonely man watching a silly girl who has a crush on him is burned into her brain.

"Hime-chan," Tatsuki says, coming over. "Are you okay?" Orihime turns to her friend, bursting into tears. All the tears that she promised she would never show Ulquiorra come flooding out, as if a dam has broken. The dark haired girl holds her as she cries, stroking her hair. It is a testament to their friendship that Tatsuki does not push her, and lets her cry it all out, without asking for reasons.

 

 

Orihime ends up staying at the coffee shop until closing, to help Chad and Tatsuki out. They offer to walk her home but she refuses, wanting to take her time and walk off her inner turmoil.

Four blocks on her way home, she passes the Buddhist shrine, the one that she was abducted from. She shivers, remember the helplessness she felt that day, trying to run away from the two Espada. Pulling up her courage, she forces herself back inside, to dispel the unhappy memories of this place.

She climbs the steps, lost in thought, and stands before the big bell in front of the shrine doors. Driven by a force she cannot identify, she starts to pray to the deity.

"Hello. My name is Orihime. I guess, you remember me from last time. I… I've never been particularly religious, sorry," she begins, clearing her throat. "And I know I am a useless person, crying all the time instead of taking action. That's why my brother died, and that's why Ulquiorra got shot. I don't deserve to ask anything from you, but please…," Orihime begs, bowing to the covered deities. "Please keep Ulquiorra safe."

The smiling face of the Buddha comforts her. She rubs her palms together, closing her eyes. "Please, let him come back, and make him happy this time. Even if it is without me. " She claps twice, and bows one last time, ringing the bell to seal her wish. "If you bring him back, I won't ask for anything more. Please bring Ulquiorra back."

 

* * *

 

Across the city, in a hospital bed, Ulquiorra's eyes fly open, and he tries to sit up, gasping for air. He could have sworn he heard Orihime calling him, but he has no idea where he is or why he is so tired.

"Call the doctor," Nemu orders a startled Grimmjow, leaning over Ulquiorra. "President, can you hear me?"

"-Hime," he tries to say the name around the tube in his mouth, hearing the mad beeping of the machines surrounding his bed. He tries not to choke, gasping for air.

"Do not try to speak, President Cifer," Nemu tells him, "Mr. Jaegerjaques is fetching Dr. Unohana." He can feel her cold fingers on his arm.

A door slams open and a woman in a white lab coat leans over him, flashing a light in his eyes. He closes them irritably, too weak to push her away. Why is she doing this? Now his shirt is being lifted, and a cold disc is pressed against - pain floods his system at the contact, making him grit his teeth.

"He's awake. Nurse, please clear the room. We cannot agitate him or raise his blood pressure." Ulquiorra hears Grimmjow's unmistakable shuffle step and the click clack of Nemu's heels. "Give him some morphine for now, a half dose should be enough."

The blackness hovers around his consciousness. He cannot breathe through the pain. "Mr. Cifer, can you hear me? I am Dr. Unohana." He opens his eyes at half mast, trying to focus, but everything is blurry. "I know it hurts, Mr. Cifer, but you need to bear with me. Please look at me."

A blessed numbness begins to penetrate his system. He fights for a deep breath, then another, and by the third, he can open his eyes. Her face swims into focus. "Mr. Cifer, is it better? Squeeze my hand for yes once, and twice for no."

He manages to close his fingers around her hand once. "Very good. Welcome back to the living, Mr. Cifer," she greets.

"Orih-" he manages to groan out, before slipping into unconsciousness again.

 

* * *

 

Orihime gets the text from Grimmjow at 4:00 AM. " _LQR aWyk_." The chirp of her cellphone breaks into her slumber for a moment. She stares at it, disoriented, trying to decipher Grimmjow's gibberish.

The long walk she took the night before has her hand dropping back to the pillow before she can read the message properly, and she is fast asleep again in seconds.

When she wakes the next morning, she gets ready for her shift at the coffee shop, dropping the phone in her purse, unread.

 

* * *

 

The room is bright, with more sunlight streaming in than Ulquiorra's bedroom. He blinks awake, feeling like his mouth is full of sand. He takes stock of his body: arms and legs are there, all fingers accounted for. Everything either hurts or is stiff. The memories of his shooting come flooding back.

"You're awake!" Nemu greets, strolling in with a vase of flowers. She sets it down on the counter, grabbing a glass of water with a straw. "Good morning, President. Would you like some water?" She does not wait for him to respond, bringing the glass to his lips.

"Mr. Aizen?" he croaks, after downing the entire glass.

"Ah, he is in prison now. Maximum security until the trial, and probably afterwards," Nemu informs him, refilling the glass with a pitcher. Ulquiorra closes his eyes, nodding wearily. Just the act of drinking water has worn him out. She explains the events of the past three months, while he lay in a coma, starting from the day of the shooting until his awakening last night.

"Ori-" Ulquiorra asks, struggling to remain awake."hime?"

"Oh, Ms. Inoue has been here beside you daily, President Cifer," his assistant tells him.

One eye opens, and he struggles to get the words out. "Don't... want... her to... see me," he breathes, falling asleep again before he can complete his thought. "Keep... woman... away."

...


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter!

**XVIII.**

 

At the end of Orihime's shift, she packs up all her things in the back room. She is getting ready to leave for the hospital, when she notices a new message on her phone. Chizuru comes in behind her, pulling off her work apron.

"Huh. What does this mean?" Orihime asks aloud, studying Grimmjow's cryptic message.

Chizuru peers over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Grimmjow texted this. Here, can you decipher it?" She holds the screen up to the pink-haired girl's face.

Behind her glasses, Chizuru's eyes widen. " _LQR_ \- Ulquiorra awake!" she squeals, meeting Orihime's gaze. "Ulquiorra's awake!"

Orihime is so relieved she has to sit down, overwhelmed. Chizuru hugs her, whooping. "Well, what are you doing, sitting here, girl? Get your butt to the hospital!"

The auburn-haired girl wipes her tears away hastily, glancing at her phone. Her eyes widen. "Wait, the message was sent at four this morning! It's already four in the afternoon," Panicking, she gives Chizuru a last hug, and sprints out the door.

 

* * *

 

The pavement falls under her steps; Orihime's heart is soaring. Ulquiorra is awake! Tears are trickling down her cheeks but she isn't even aware of them. Instead, she is humbled by an immense sense of gratitude to the Gods, or whoever took care of him and sent Ulquiorra back.

She swipes her pass at the train station, making a mad dash to get into the train before the doors close. She gets in just in time, bursting into laughter as the train lurches forward.

Orihime laughs at herself, at her clumsiness, and out of sheer joy. The people around her give her funny looks and inch away slowly. A kindly grandmother hands her some tissues to wipe her face with, and Orihime accepts them gratefully, wiping her cheeks.

"Good news, I hope?" The old lady asks. Orihime breaks into a sunny grin, nodding.

As the train stops, she bows quickly to the old lady, and runs out the carriage, cheeks flushed with excitement. She pauses by the taiyaki seller to grab a bag of the piping-hot fish shaped pastries, and continues on her way, humming and skipping. Finally she makes it to the hospital, waving to the nurses at the front desk. In the elevator up, she wipes her suddenly sweaty palms on her skirt, finger-combing her hair nervously.

The doors slide open, and Orihime gets off. This is where the private suites are, so the air smells different, and the nurses speak in hushed whispers. She spots Dr. Unohana consulting with another doctor, and gives her a big smile, waving excitedly. The older woman nods in greeting, continuing her conversation. Orihime makes her way around the corner, heading into the back section, where Ulquiorra's suite is.

 

Grimmjow and Nemu are discussing something in hisses and murmurs, right outside Ulquiorra's room. "Hello, Grimmy and Nemu," Orihime greets, bouncing up excitedly to them. Grimmjow scowls and looks away. Nemu walks up to her.

"Miss Inoue," Nemu begins, looking uncomfortable.

"What is it?" Orihime can see that Nemu is distressed. "Would you like a taiyaki before I take the rest to Ulquiorra?"

Grimmjow huffs, crossing the corridor to gaze out the window sulkily. Nemu takes her arm, leading her away from Ulquiorra's room gently. Orihme turns her head, craning her neck to look at the door. "What is going on? Is Ulquiorra alright?" she asks, facing Nemu again.

Nemu releases her arm, bowing deeply. "I apologize if we have worried you in any way. President Cifer is doing well. He is now awake," she tells Orihime formally.

"That's great, then, right?" Orihime asks anxiously, peering over Nemu's shoulder. "Can I see him?" Nemu does not reply.

Orihime glances back at her serious face, her smile fading. "Is he damaged or injured too badly? Does he have amnesia?" she asks, her eyes widening.

"No," Nemu replies, her eyes downcast. "It is just... that... President Cifer does not wish for you to see him."

"What?" Orihime freezes, shocked. Her heart sinks, but she understands exactly why he would do this. After discovering the secret of Ulquiorra's seat by the window, she now knows he has been watching over her. She does not want to burden him further.

Grimmjow comes over, butting into the conversation. "He's a fucking idiot, is what he is. You should just march in there and kick his ass," he growls, grabbing Orihime's wrist and pulling her back towards the door.

"Wait, Grimmy," Orihime protests, pushing against his arm. "Nemu, did he actually say he does not want me to see him?"

Nemu blocks the door with her body, bowing again. "I am so sorry, Miss Inoue, but he did say that."

"He must have been out of his mind with the meds," Grimmjow grumbles, scowling.

Orihime pulls her wrist out of Grimmjow's grip. "I-If he doesn't want to see me... I understand," she says quietly. "After all, he got shot because of me, and all of this happened to him. I suppose he is done with me." Orihime forces a weak smile as she hands the bag of taiyakis to Grimmjow. "Please, give this to him for me."

She bows, gripping the strap of her purse self-consciously. "Thank you for telling me, Nemu. Please… continue to take care of him, both of you. He will need support in the coming days."

"Hime-chan," Grimmjow protests, but she shakes her head, silencing him. She bows one last time, and heads out the door quickly.

 

* * *

 

Grimmjow follows her, watching the bright orange hair streaming out behind her, but she ducks into a stairwell next to the elevator. As he approaches the door, he can hear her heartbroken sobs echoing, although she tries to keep them muffled.

The elevator doors open, and Tier Harribel steps out.

"Grimmjow, I came as soon as I could. He's awake?" Tier asks, striding to his side. Grimmjow leans against the wall, folding his arms, glaring at the ground. "What is it?" she asks quietly, hearing the sobs. "Orihime?"

"He told us he didn't want to see her," Grimmjow mutters, scowling. "I thought he had changed. He's still a cold bastard."

"Really?" Tier's eyes widen. "But does he know she's been here every day since they brought him out of surgery?" They turn towards the door, hearing the sobs quiet down.

"Yes," Grimmjow sighs, opening the door knob. The stairwell is empty. Orihime has gone.

The two make their way to Ulquiorra's suite, where Nemu is helping him sit up.

"Welcome back, Ulquiorra," Tier greets, enfolding her long arms around him in a hug. He freezes, unused to the affection from the tall woman. "Orihime was here. Did you hear her?"

"I do not wish to see her, Tier," Ulquiorra mutters in his monotone. Grimmjow deposits the bag of warm taiyaki into Ulquiorra's lap. "She cannot see me like this. I-"

"She left this for you, you fucking asshole," Grimmjow snarls at the pale man, cutting him off. "You and your stupid pride." Ulquiorra doesn't change expression as he glances down at the bag. It infuriates Grimmjow how normal Ulquiorra seems, as if he had reset his system and rebooted it. "Are you a robot? Don't you have feelings for Orihime?"

The green eyes study Grimmjow curiously. "How is that any of your business?" Ulquiorra replies flatly in his still-hoarse voice. "Nemu, water please." Irritated, Grimmjow kicks over the trash bin on his way out, slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Orihime finds herself back at the temple, on her way home. She climbs the weather-beaten steps, falling to her knees in front of the benevolent Buddha statue.

"Thank you," she whispers, bowing her head. "Thank you for bringing him back. I won't ask for anything more."

 

* * *

 

Ulquiorra wakes, and he is disoriented. It has been two weeks since his coma ended, and he cannot seem to stay awake for longer than four to five hours at a time. He also does not seem to be sleeping through the night. He wakes up sporadically, his mind searching for something that isn't there, as if he has lost something important, like an arm or a limb.

His eyes stray to the clock on the far wall. 2:00 AM. He exhales, pulling himself into a sitting position very very carefully. That act wipes him out, and he can feel the tightness of the stitches in his chest. His beard has grown bushy, and it has never been this thick in his entire life, aggravating him further.

He wants to be out of this place, with the dark wood panelling and the chemical smell of detergent and the muted whispers of white-clad nurses. The room is too cold, or too hot. He does not want to be here.

The doctor warned him to take it easy. If what Nemu reported is correct, then taking it easy is no longer an option, not if Mr. Aizen's trial is coming up so quickly. He needs to rebuild his strength quickly, and he cannot waste any more time lying unconscious.

A nurse hurries in, alerted by the jump in his heart rate. "President Cifer, you mustn't exert yourself!" she exclaims, scurrying to his bedside. He shoots her a fierce glare, making her take a step back.

"I need to shave," he growls irritably. "Is there a razor?"

"Um, Miss Inoue used to shave you, she would know," the nurse begins, biting back a squeak of terror at the look in his eye.

"Just leave," Ulquiorra mutters, his voice going hoarse. With a nod, she exits the room. Already, his eyes are drooping.

The darkness claims him soon after, soothing him with dreams of being entangled in a forest of bright red ribbons.

 

* * *

 

"Barragan, Zommari and Aaroniero were arrested today in a safehouse near Okinawa," Tier tells Ulquiorra three weeks later. "That's about it for the remaining Espada, everyone else has been accounted for."

He accepts the coat that Nemu hands him, easing off the bed into a wheelchair. "Excited for your first visit outdoors?" Tier chuckles, ignoring the glare he shoots at her. "It's been a while, huh? I thought you were pale before. You're even paler now. Most women would kill to have your complexion."

Ulquiorra is impervious to her teasing, his thoughts centered around her first statement. "All of the Espada accounted for?"

"Yes," Tier tells him, sobering. "The trial is next week, will you be able to testify? The Arrancars have either been assimilated into other gangs, or merged into the Las Noches group as employees, so there is no danger of retaliation from Aizen. I made it clear to them, and things should have calmed down by now." She opens the door as Nemu pushes him through, and they make their way to the little rooftop garden.

"Do not worry about me," he replies, his brows furrowing. "But Mr. Aizen has allies outside of the Arrancars."

Tier smirks. "Well, once Byakuya Kuchiki made it clear that he was throwing his support behind Nemu and I, the business world followed suit. He sends his thanks, by the way, for helping find out who killed his wife. He had his suspicions at the time, when she died so young of a random illness, but the police managed to track down the person who poisoned her, and she gave up immediately."

Ulquiorra thinks of the massive bouquets that have been arriving weekly from Kuchiki International. "Please tell him that his gratitude is enough; he does not need to do anything more," he mutters, propping his chin on his fist.

They reach the roof deck. He braces himself as Tier opens the glass doors; the winter chill blasts him across the face. Unwillingly, his thoughts fly to Orihime. Perhaps she is at the coffee shop, right now, her cheeks pink and her eyes animated. He wonders, for a moment, if he should try to see her.

 _No_ , he scolds himself sternly. Distance from him is the best way to keep her safe, and he cannot afford to gamble on her safety while he himself is completely helpless in this state.

He is not prepared for the blazing sunset; after weeks in artificial lighting, he has to close his eyes. The light is irritating his eyes, making them water. That's all, Ulquiorra thinks. The sun is too bright. These are not tears. But to see the sun again after coming so close to death... The repaired hole in the centre of his chest hurts. He takes a deep breath of the icy air.

When he reopens them again, Tier and Nemu are no longer in sight, giving him some privacy. He is grateful for that. It is cold, and he is alive.

The sound of shuffling steps alerts him to Grimmjow's presence. "What is it?" he inquires tonelessly, gazing out at the view of the sunset-drenched city. Ulquiorra will never admit it, but he is glad that Grimmjow is here.

A paper cup appears in his peripheral vision. "A double espresso, decaf," the taller man mutters, placing it in his hands. "Doctor says your heart can't handle the full caffeine yet."

He accepts it. The heat of the coffee has not survived the trek through the cold afternoon. He looks up at Grimmjow to tell him this, but the look on the other man's face has Ulquiorra taking a sip instead, and subsiding with a "Thank you." He notes that it is from Orihime's shop. The taste is both nostalgic and bitter.

"How is she?" The words escape him. He closes his eyes briefly, hoping Grimmjow did not hear it.

"You're an ass," Grimmjow sighs. Ulquiorra sips his coffee again, his eyes shuttered. "You know, you can actually be with her now, right?"

"The trial is not over; there is a chance Mr. Aizen could still be acquitted." Ulquiorra cradles the papercup in his hands, trying to absorb what heat, and absurdly, whatever traces of

Orihime's touch are left. "It is not safe yet. I am cold. Let's go inside."

Grimmjow pushes his chair back inside. The ten minutes outdoors has Ulquiorra slightly tired, but not completely wiped out. Both Tier and Nemu are waiting for them just inside.

"When are you getting out?" Grimmjow asks, pushing him into the waiting elevator.

"Two weeks at the most, then physical rehabilitation to get my range of motion back," he replies, watching the numbers flash above the door. "I don't need it though. Mostly they want to make sure the arteries are repaired completely."

"President Cifer, the doctor said a month at least," Nemu corrects, holding the elevator door open for them to pass.

He glares at her. "I am checking out of this hospital in two weeks."

Tier hides a chuckle as Nemu turns away with a "We shall see." Frustration crosses Ulquiorra's face for a moment, but he quickly changes it to his usual deadpan expression.

The ladies take their leave as soon as Ulquiorra is settled back in his room, citing meetings and deadlines. Grimmjow folds his lanky form into the only seat in the room. "Y'know," he drawls, rocking the chair back on the two back legs, "You're looking different now that you're awake. Aside from the hipster beard."

"No kidding," Ulquiorra glares at him. It is not like he wants this beard, after all. He does not trust any of the nurses to shave him and his own hand is still too shaky to do it safely. He didn't want to go back to Cifer Corp, either, but there you have it.

"Do you want a polka-dot bowtie, too?" Grimmjow grins.

"Why are you even here?" Ulquiorra scowls, leaning back onto the pillows. He is gradually rebuilding his endurance, but right now, sitting up for long periods is exhausting.

"Ah, admit it, Grumpy Cat. You missed me," the blue haired man smirks, digging in his pocket. He pulls out a beer triumphantly. "I saw Orihime today. She's doing great, actually. Lost some weight, but she looks fantastic. Have you spoken with her?"

Ulquiorra's eyes flick briefly towards his phone, lying facedown on the bedside stand. "That's good to hear." he tells Grimmjow tonelessly. Truth be told, she has sent him two text messages.

Message number one, sent the day he woke up:  _"I'm glad you woke up. Thank you for being alive."_

Message number two, sent the day after he woke up:  _"I understand why you are refusing to see me. Your waking up is the most important thing, and I do not want to impose on you any longer. Thank you for taking care of me until now, and I wish you the best."_

Reading them makes his chest ache. He did not want to open a conversation with her again, so he did not reply to either one. He does not want to think about how many times he has re-read these messages, nor does he acknowledge the little jump his heart makes every time someone sends him a message, just in case it is from her.

He glares at Grimmjow. "Do not mention her to me again." The sky-blue gaze of the other man sees more than Ulquiorra wishes; he averts his own eyes.

Raising the can of beer in his direction, Grimmjow gives him a mocking toast. "Whatever you say, Ulquiorra."

 

* * *

 

Weeks pass.

It is difficult for Orihime not to contact Ulquiorra again, but she sees him on the news regularly and tries to content herself with that. She falls back into her regular routine, as if he had never happened in her life.

Work with Chizuru, Tatsuki and Chad, days off at museums; she goes through the motions automatically. Sometimes she thinks that there is a hole in her own chest, and her heart is gone, leaving her numb and cold. That is alright.

She prefers that blessed numbness over the pain that breaks through her shell every now and then, especially late at night, when she is alone in her bed, that has her crying uncontrollably and waking up with swollen eyes and an aching chest. It happens daily at first, but now it has slowed down to every four or five days. Okay, to be honest, maybe every two or three, but she is hopeful.

Every now and then Rukia takes her out for a girls' night, to complain about Ichigo and the upcoming wedding. There is no mention of her bringing a date, not through the dress fittings or the spa treatments or the endless mani-pedis. Sometimes Byakuya even accompanies them, and her heart aches a little bit when she sees how much he secretly dotes on his sister. Still, she is happy for her friend.

She has dinner with Shuuhei once every two weeks. Her brother's best friend tries his best to make up for the seven years of silence. Shuuhei is an only child, she finds out, but he steps into the role of big brother quite easily. They even visit Sora's grave together sometimes.

Grimmjow and Tier swing by the coffee shop once a week. At first she had hoped it was mostly to keep tabs on her to report to Ulquiorra, but she later realizes that it is because they truly want to be friends with her. The thought is bittersweet, but she is glad.

Orihime is grateful to have friends who care about her. It is an unspoken agreement between all of them that Ulquiorra is not mentioned in her presence.

She knows Ulquiorra is back up and walking again. He testifies against Mr. Aizen in the trial, and all his past work for Mr. Aizen come to light. The paparazzi hound him day and night, finding the story of a fallen heir turned gang member irresistible.

The trial of Sosuke Aizen goes through quickly and the judge rules against him for attempted murder, murder in the first degree, abduction, and a host of other charges. He is sentenced to life in prison, with no chance of parole.

When she hears the news, Orihime is saddened by the waste of Mr. Aizen's life. He fought so hard to get recognition, but the power he craved cost him everything. She, Rukia, Ichigo, and Ishida go out for drinks to celebrate, but the mood is unexpectedly somber and quiet.

Rukia mentions that Ulquiorra's testimony ultimately influenced Tier and the other Espada to testify themselves, and the house of cards that Las Noches was built on collapsed under the weight of the truth.

Orihime is glad she does not flinch at the mention of his name, but her fingers dig into the straps of her purse. _No,_ she tells herself. _Do not think about him now._ Smiling brightly, she asks about the coming wedding, launching the topic guaranteed to make Rukia and Ichigo talk.

 

* * *

 

Somewhere else in the city, Ulquiorra goes home to his empty house, grateful for silence after running the gauntlet with the paparazzi. The trial is finally over, and he will never have to see Mr. Aizen again. He is completely exhausted, not fully healed yet and mentally drained.

That night, he finishes the better part of a bottle of whiskey, staring at the screen of his smartphone.

 

* * *

 

Orihime stops following the news about Ulquiorra two days after the trial. He has not made any attempts to contact her, and it is a painful realization that perhaps that part of her life with him is over.

One lonely, drunken night, she deletes Ulquiorra's phone number, wishing she could delete him from her memory so easily. This is the night she decides to move on with her life, instead of waiting for him.

She decides to sign up for an arts course at a local community college, near the center of Tokyo. She still keeps her shifts at the coffee shop, since this is her primary source of income. And although she has rebuilt her life, she is not ready to surrender the heart that she gave to Ulquiorra to anyone else. She falls into her new routine easily, enjoying her new life as a student, and new friends.

 

* * *

 

One spring night in May, Orihime is working the coffee shop with Tatsuki and Chizuru. The café is full of people looking to escape the chill, and the girls are kept on their toes by the endless line of people wanting hot drinks. It is so cold, in fact, that people are opting to stay inside, standing up to drink their steaming beverages, instead of heading back out.

"Hime-chan, can you please bus tables while there is no line?" Tatsuki asks from behind the espresso machine. Orihime nods, grabbing a tray for dirty dishes and a rag to wipe tables. She weaves her way through the crowded shop, collecting used porcelain and dirty napkins, working her way through the room.

When she gets to the stool in the corner, in front of the window, she stops for a moment. It seems that her body still remembers the little quickening of her pulse every time she approaches that spot, like a Pavlov-conditioned dog. Even now, she feels a flush on her cheeks.

Today, Ulquiorra's chair is occupied by a pigtailed four-year old, with her mother beside her. Orihime smiles at the child's chocolate-smeared cheeks, offering extra napkins to the mother. A movement outside catches her attention; she glances up to see the silhouette of a man standing across the street, late season sakura petals fluttering around him.

The window is fogged up by the steam from the espresso machine, so she cannot see him clearly, but she feels a prickle at the back of her neck as she stares at the man. He is wearing a hooded coat, probably to ward off the spring chill, but somehow the way he stands, hands in pockets, the way he holds himself... He looks back at her, although she cannot see his eyes at this distance.

Her feet are moving towards the door even before she can think, compelled by a need to see if it is, indeed, Ulquiorra. Her heart is pounding with excitement. _Could it be?_  The throng in the coffee shop works against her, impeding her progress to the door. Frantically, she weaves through the crowd, ducking customers and ignoring Chizuru's yell.

Finally, she makes it to the door, pushing it open. Her eyes are searching, but there is nobody standing across the street.  _Was he here?_  She jay-walks across the mostly empty street, bowing in apology to the pedestrians she runs into. There is no sign of the man.

Frustrated, Orihime calls out, "Ulquiorra, where are you?" She whirls around, hoping.

Of course, there is no reply. After a few minutes, she makes her way back, head bowed as she retrieves her tray from the patio table. "Orihime, stop imagining him," she scolds herself loudly, grateful for the cool breeze that calms her flushed face.

 

* * *

 

In June, Tier mentions over dinner that Ulquiorra handed in his resignation as President of Cifer Corp, and that Nemu is taking over.

Orihime is proud of the way she can smile now, and ask, very casually, "So, what does he plan to do next?"

Tier regards her with a long look, as if she is debating whether or not to tell her. Then, she sighs. "I don't know. He finished his rehab now. His full range of motion is back but he's slower than he used to be. He seems to be planning to leave Japan. He has not said much to me, but you know him."

"Oh, lucky him," Orihime laughs, sipping her plum wine a little too forcefully. "I've always wanted to travel. My brother promised me he would show me the world someday." She launches into conversation about the museums she would like to visit, avoiding the knowing look in Tier's eyes.

At the end of the night, as Tier is hugging her goodnight, the older woman murmurs, "I don't know what he's doing with himself."

Orihime steps back with a smile, eyes carefully averted. "Thank you for telling me, Tier, but it is none of my business now. See you again soon." She scampers inside before Tier can see her tears.

So, he really has moved on, then.

 

* * *

 

It is the middle of summer, and Tokyo is humid and sweltering, even in the shade. After a late class, Orihime leaves the air-conditioned classroom reluctantly. It is dusk, and the sky is ablaze in pinks and purples. Her classmates disappear into internet cafes and restaurants, but Orihime just wants to go home.

Her phone chirps. It is Chizuru. "Hime-chan, can you please come help me tonight? We are so busy, everyone wants ice drinks and Tatsuki cut her finger."

"Sure," Orihime responds, sighing mentally to herself. It is not like she had any plans anyway. She had been looking forward to spending a quiet night at home.

It is a ten minute walk from the college to the coffee shop. She bows at the gates of the temple, as she always does now, before running to the store. The night is still warm, so she peels off her sweater, tucking it into her purse as she pulls the door open.

The busy store makes the hours pass faster and soon it is closing time. Chizuru is in the back, counting inventory. Orihime is packing up the day's pastries when the door chimes jangle.

"Good evening!" Orihime calls from behind the pastry case, "Welcome, customer. But we are closing in ten minutes." When she straightens up, her gaze crashes into a pair of dark green eyes. The blood drains from her face, but she fights to keep her composure. Being around Rukia Kuchiki, she has learned a thing or two about poker faces.

"A double espresso, right?" Orihime asks in a lower voice. Now it is she who breaks eye contact, she who turns her head away. He is not in a suit anymore; Orihime supposes that ended with Mr. Aizen's incarceration, and with Ulquiorra's resignation.

But she has never seen him dressed so casually, in khaki pants that hug his legs, and a loose green button-down that hints at the broadness of his chest. His jaw is dusted by stubble, and she remembers, unwillingly, how smooth his skin was after she shaved him in the hospital. His eyes are weary, hidden behind functional black-rimmed eyeglasses, but his gaze is intent, and focused on her.

"Yes," Ulquiorra says, studying her with an unreadable expression. Orihime wonders if he can hear her heart pounding, it is so loud. He turns slowly, making his way to his usual seat in the corner, and her heart constricts. This is bad.

She escapes to the back room, her face going up in flames. Making a beeline for the sink, she splashes cold water on her face. Chizuru eyes her suspiciously. "What's going on, Hime-chan?"

"Can you please make the double espresso for the customer?" Orihime pleads, rubbing her face furiously with some paper towels. Chizuru opens the door a crack, peeking out, and her eyes widen.

"Ulquiorra's here?"The pink-haired girl gasps, whirling about to face her.

"Wait, did you just call him Ulquiorra?" Orihime pauses, her cheeks red from scrubbing.

Chizuru raises an eyebrow, as she grabs Orihime. "He took a bullet for my best friend. The least I can do is call him by his name, yes? Go make the espresso yourself." She shoves Orihime back into the main area.

He is still there, waiting by the window. Orihime makes his drink in the demitasse cup, and delivers it to him, careful not to look at him.

"Your coffee," she murmurs, sliding the porcelain onto the polished dark wood. His scent is the same, male and woodsy, bringing back memories of fevered kisses in the dark and his hand in hers, fingers tangling. He lifts his gaze to hers slowly. She is caught, helpless as he raises his long elegant fingers to her jaw, cupping the curve of her cheek.

"Hime-chan, you can leave now! I've got everything under control," Chizuru sings out from the coffee prep area, making Orihime jump nervously away from him like a frightened cat. She retreats to the counter, unable to look in his direction.

' _No_ ,' she scolds herself as she heads to the back room, her pulse racing. ' _I swore I would not be greedy and ask for more. It is enough that he is alive. It should be enough_.' She does not exit the back room until Chizuru comes in.

"Did I interrupt something?" Chizuru asks, looking apologetic. "I'm so sorry, I did not see you until it was too late. He just left the store. You should have gone with him."

Orihime shakes her head, pulling off the apron and dusting off her dress. "It's okay, Chizuru, really, we don't have anything to talk about." She waits for Chizuru to get ready to leave, her thoughts whirling.

"Don't you have unfinished business? What about his refusing to see you when he woke up?" Chizuru demands, placing her hands on her hips. "Go after him, Orihime. Figure out what you two are, or find closure."

' _She's right,_ ' Orihime admits to herself, ' _but I'm afraid. He might hurt me even more than he already has._ '

"He came here tonight, Orihime, to see you." Chizuru insists. "Go!"

Orihime heads out the door with a wave to her friend, dashing through the empty café, pulling the door open to run to the street. Then she stops.

Ulquiorra is standing there, waiting for her. Her burst of exercise has her slightly out of breath; she stares at him, trying to slow her heart rate. She is reminded of another night, of a shadow of a man standing out the window, on the sidewalk.

"Orihime," he asks quietly, "May I walk you home?"

She nods, placing a hand on her heart to ease the aching. Head lowered, she falls into step beside him. He does not move to touch her or even look at her.

"I apologize for taking so long to contact you." Ulquiorra's voice wraps around her like a cool breeze on this humid night, comforting her even as it infuriates her. "I was not willing to put you in any more danger until I was sure that it was over. And, here." He takes her hand, placing a handkerchief-wrapped bundle in her palm.

She knows what it is, when she closes her fingers around it. The return of her hair clips makes her hand tremble, as if he is sealing the past with this final act.

"The case and trial of Mr. Aizen, you mean?" Orihime asks, looking straight ahead as she tucks the clips into the pocket of her sweater. "But his trial ended in April. It is now August." There is anger in her voice, and sadness. "I thought we would still be friends, at least."

"Yes," he tells her, "But I was not sure the danger had passed. Mr. Aizen's reach is long. I, of all people, should know that. It was safer for me to keep my distance." They walk in silence for another ten minutes or so. Orihime is getting angrier with every step, and she is not used to this emotion. It is true, what Tier said. His steps are slower now, more measured and deliberate. His delicate grace is still there, but it is now weighed down by his injuries.

"I thought I saw you in May, outside the store," she ventures, unable to bear the silence. "Were you there? It was a cold night."

If she hadn't been looking, she would have missed the tiny nod. It infuriates her further. It has been so long. "Did you hear me call out to you?"

He gives her a sidelong glance. "Yes."

His dark green eyes gleam in the dim light. Abruptly she breaks eye contact, lapsing back into an awkward silence. So if he heard, then why did he not say anything? She opens her mouth to say something, but his slight limp catches her attention, giving her pause.

' _He's alive,'_  she reminds herself. ' _That is the only important thing._ '

He comes to a complete stop under a street light, glancing at her. "What are you talking about, woman?" he asks, making her realize she had said it aloud. He reaches for her face, but pulls his hand back at the last minute, as if remembering his place. "You are important."

Had she ever thought he was cold? His eyes are full of emotion as he looks at her, and she is on fire. "Ulquiorra...,"she breathes out, defenceless in the face of his intensity. "What do you want from me?"

He whirls away from her, resuming his walking stance and shoves his hands in his pockets. She strides after him, grabbing his arm. "Ulquiorra, don't walk away from me when I am speaking to you," she cries out. "Don't leave me behind, and don't shut me out."

He meets her gaze again, and she cannot breathe for the yearning in his eyes. Then he looks away, and it is gone.

"I could not face you. When I woke up," Ulquiorra states, his lips tightening. "I could not bear to for you to see me like that, weak and defenceless. And if I had not come back whole, then you would be better off forgetting about me. I was hurt for a long time, unable to function properly. You deserved someone who could protect you, someone who would not be a burden to you." He is sorrowful and a little unsure of himself, and that warms Orihime's heart more than it should.

 

The woman is silent, and now he has spilled out his shame. Ulquiorra is not afraid of anything, but the thought of meeting Orihime's eyes and seeing scorn there has his hands going cold.

"Idiot," she whispers. He is not sure if he has heard correctly. Ulquiorra has been called many things, but his level of intelligence has never come into question.

"You foolish man," Orihime mutters furiously, glaring at him. "How dare you think that I would be that shallow, that I would leave you if you were hurt or paralyzed... How dare you try to make that decision for me."

Her eyes are full of tears, again. Damn it. All he does is hurt her, no matter what he does. Helplessly, he can only watch her.

She blinks, looking up, fanning her face. "I swore I would never cry in front of you again," she mutters, trying to look everywhere else but at him.

"That is probably my fault," he tells her, guilt overcoming him. "I… am not good for you."

"So, why are you here?" Her hurt radiates off her in waves he can almost see. But he can also see how she cannot keep her eyes off him, as if she is afraid he would disappear in front of her. He can hardly blame her for that.

"I... am leaving Japan," Ulquiorra tells her stiffly. She takes a step back, flinching. He feels his own heart twist in response to the look on her face. "Wait, that did not come out right."

"Are you here to say goodbye?" Her head is lowered now. He cannot see the stormy colour of her eyes.

Ulquiorra sighs. "Not quite yet. I have to explain-"

"Explain what?" Orihime's voice is fierce. She is a goddess in the moonlight, her fiery hair whipping around in the summer breeze, and he cannot stop himself from reaching out to touch her face.

She jerks backwards, away from him, out of reach. "Do not touch me. Not until we have this conversation. I cannot think when you touch me, and I need my head clear for this. What do you want from me, Ulquiorra Cifer?" There is an undertone of steel in her voice; this is new. He drops his hand, staring intently at the silvery streaks on her cheek.

"It has been nine months since I was shot," Ulquiorra begins again, but she interrupts him.

"Eight months, and twenty-one days," Orihime corrects. The look in her eyes breaks him, although he is proud of her for speaking her mind. "I was there," she tells him. He takes a step towards her. She does not retreat. He takes another. "I think about it every single day."

"In all that time, I had the chance to think about what I was going to do without you," he explains, his gaze steady on hers. "I was going to put Japan behind me and start over somewhere, create a new beginning away from all of this." He regards her for a long moment, drinking in the sight of her. Then he moves, as fast as his still-healing body will let him.

"But I cannot," he murmurs, pulling her close into his arms. "I cannot leave you. And it is selfish and greedy of me, but...," Ulquiorra closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of vanilla and woman, tightening his hold on her, "I understand if you hate me. I will try my best to change your mind."

Holding her is right, as if this is the first breath he has taken in months. She stands motionless, except for the sobs shaking her body, her lips pressed tightly together as she holds on to the last vestiges of her control.

"I am sorry for hurting you. I'm not good at emotions," he murmurs into her ear, "And I am not good with words, but if you will have me, Orihime Inoue, I am yours." He closes his eyes for a moment, hoping for a miracle, preparing for the worst.

She buries her face in his shoulder, leaning into him. "Idiot," she hiccups between sobs, "I missed you so much."

The shooting warmth in his chest has the corner of his mouth kicking up. "Did you, woman?"

"Who are you calling woman, Ul- " His mouth is on her lips before she can finish his name, kissing the breath out of her. She throws her arms around her neck with a sob, kissing him back just as eagerly.

' _This is right_ ,' he thinks. ' _Now I'm home._ ' He spears his fingers into her hair, delving into the familiar softness of her lips.

"Wait, Orihime," he gasps, bracing his forehead against hers when they come up for air. "Come see the world with me."

"What?" Orihime draws back, eyes wide. "What do you mean?" He pulls her back in for another slow, drugging kiss.

"Come see the world with me," he repeats. "I won't take you away from home forever, but it'll be a year and I want you to come with me." Her grin warms his heart.

"Okay," she laughs, her face glowing. "When do we leave?"

 

* * *

**END**

* * *

**Extra scene:**

 

Ulquiorra takes Orihime to the beach, where they sit in the sand and talk for hours under a blanket of a thousand stars, his arms wrapped tight around her.

"By the way," he mentions, when their voices have gone hoarse and their lips are swollen from kisses. "I looked at the sketchpads you left behind for me."

He feels her skin warm. "Yes?"

"The drawings were... they called me back to you. When I was drifting away," Ulquiorra murmurs, nuzzling against her neck. He feels her tears slip down her cheeks again. "Ah, I made you cry. You are a gifted artist, Orihime."

She shakes her head no, leaning back against him. "I'm glad. I'm glad you came back to me."

"It was inevitable," he tells her. "I apologize for the delay." Her lips curl into a smile, and he is hooked, leaning in for another kiss. "I just have one question..."

"Mmh?"

"Why do you have a drawing of Grimmjow kissing me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me on this journey. I appreciate your kind comments and would love to hear your thoughts and opinions, both positive and negative. :D Cheers!


	19. Chapter 19

**XIX.**

**Epilogue**

 

**Two Years Ago:**

For Ulquiorra Cifer, the best time to be in Tokyo is winter. Winter is grey asphalt and white snow and black coats, and the biting cold that helps him stay numb. He ignores the chattering of the Sexta beside him, choosing to focus on their boss, Sosuke Aizen.

Normally, bodyguards would be shoving people out of the way, so that the gang leader could walk, undisturbed, on the sidewalk. But not Sosuke Aizen, surrounded by his white-clad Espada. The pedestrians get out of his way, averting their eyes.

He hears the whispers of, "Monsters", "Espada bastards", and even, "Green-eyed demon."

'Trash,' Ulquiorra thinks contemptuously, striding a few feet behind Mr. Aizen, guarding the rear. It is not like this is new, so he pays no mind to the hissed words, and continues on his way.

A sudden movement on the side has him springing into action, pulling out his weapon and shoving it against the chin of a trembling office girl. "Take your weapon out slowly," he utters, pushing her chin up with the gun. Her shaking hands retrieve a folding umbrella from her blazer, as she raises tear-filled eyes to his.

"Do you think you can look me in the eye?" Ulquiorra asks tonelessly, "pretending to be so innocent?"

Mr. Aizen stops at a distance, with Tier at his side. He watches the exchange between Ulquiorra and the girl with mild interest. Grimmjow bounds towards them, grabbing the other man's arm.

"Cuatro, what are you doing?" He tries in vain to lower the arm holding the weapon, but Ulquiorra is stronger. Grimmjow flashes an apologetic smile to the girl as he wrestles with Ulquiorra. The girl whimpers, begging them not to hurt her as she rises on her tiptoes to avoid the gun on her jaw.

"I told you to take your weapon out, and I dislike repeating myself," Ulquiorra tells her calmly, ignoring the attempts of Grimmjow to stop him.

"What the hell, Ulquiorra?" Grimmjow growls, standing in front of the girl, pushing her away from the gun.

"Idiot," Ulquiorra mutters, as the girl grabs Grimmjow, pressing a knife to his throat.

"I'm going to kill him!" she hollers, pulling the blue-haired man to his knees.

"Go ahead," Ulquiorra grumbles, putting his weapon away. Without changing expressions, he heads towards Mr. Aizen.

"What the fuck do you mean, go ahead?" Grimmjow howls after him, struggling against the girl's arm lock. "Hey, asshole, where are you going?"

"Let's go, Mr. Aizen," Ulquiorra tells his boss. "She may have been sent by a rival gang, and there may be more of them in the crowd."

He respects his boss a lot, but he does not understand why Mr. Aizen insists on these weekly "walks," exposing himself to danger to stroll around the sidewalks. Other gangs have tried to take advantage of this by sending assassins frequently.

"Is it worth taking her in?" Mr. Aizen asks curiously, falling into step beside him again.

Ulquiorra shakes his head no. "She had no tattoos or jewelry claiming her affiliation, and there was nothing obviously visible. From the way she dresses, it seems that she is a freelancer, a mercenary if you will."

Mr. Aizen strokes his chin, glancing over his shoulder at the situation behind them. "How can you tell?"

"Her clothes are well-made, but worn, which suggests that she does not have a steady paycheck and needs to save money. They have been altered to improve the range of mobility, meaning she or someone she knows is an expert in clothing, but they've been altered specifically to hide weapons. Most run-of-the-mill gangs would not bother going to this detail," Ulquiorra recites. "And she is not as young as she seems. Her make-up goes a long way."

The older man smiles. "You never cease to amaze me, Ulquiorra. But why did you leave Grimmjow? Are you not on the same team?"

"He's the Sexta Espada. With all due respect, sir, if he cannot even defend himself, then she can, and should kill him," the Cuatro pronounces, flicking a dispassionate gaze at the struggle.

"Yoruichi! You can let him go now," Mr. Aizen calls, grinning. "Thanks for helping me out."

"Yes," the woman purrs, whipping her ponytail back. "I'll take the fees in cash please." The would-be assassin releases Grimmjow with a flourish. Tier pulls an envelope out of the briefcase, handing it to the tanned woman. The woman pats a furious Grimmjow on the head, slinking past Ulquiorra with a feline wave.

"Good job, green-eyes," she chuckles before disappearing into the crowd.

"This was a test, then," Ulquiorra states matter-of-factly. He is neither angry nor pleased; this is his purpose, after all, in being Sosuke Aizen's Cuatro. He is not paid to feel.

Mr. Aizen claps him on the back. "One you passed with flying colors. Incidentally, that was Yoruichi Shihoin. I set her up with a shop in Harajuku a few weeks back, so she helps me out every now and then." Of course, Mr. Aizen has a diverse portfolio and knows a lot of different people.

"That's a cute little shop," Mr. Aizen muses, pointing to a café across the street. "We should go there sometime."

He follows the older man's gaze to the cheerful-looking coffee shop. "Yes, sir." He is used to his master's random digressions. They walk towards the Cifer Corp building down two blocks from here. Nnoitra, the Quinto, has set up his office in this building, of all places, and it is sheer luck that Ulquiorra has not run into his father.

The meeting takes a while, and because it is winter, the sun sets at five. Ulquiorra and Grimmjow wait in the lobby as Tier and the boss head upstairs for their six-thirty pm meeting.

Checking his watch, Ulquiorra estimates that he has at least two hours to kill before the meeting ends. He does not wish to run into his father by accident, nor does he want to sit around listening to Grimmjow complain. "Call me when they are done," he orders the Sexta, just in case the meeting runs faster than he expects.

The still-pouting Grimmjow crosses his arms and settles into the couch, ignoring him, but Ulquiorra knows that the blue-haired man will do as he says.

 

* * *

 

It is snowing lightly now, outside.

The dancing flakes remind Ulquiorra of his brother, and the gnawing emptiness of standing before his grave. He welcomes the cold, digging his hands into his pockets as the snowflakes fall on his hair and eyelashes.

Soon, the sidewalks and shrubbery are dusted white, marred by footprints of the pedestrians. The streetlights make for interesting shadows, but Ulquiorra is lost in his own thoughts as he walks the nearby streets.

His existence is defined by two things: the presence of Sosuke Aizen, and the absence of his brother. Everything else is shadows and light, unsubstantial and unimportant. He strides through this existence steadily, as he has for the past five years, cold, numb, unfeeling.

Lately, though, there has been an... itch. Of sorts. It comes to him when he is alone with himself, a strange unsettling, just enough to be annoying, but he cannot pinpoint the cause of it.

Winter is perfect because of the frigid temperatures, but as he trudges through the wet pavement, his icy façade melts into a scowl. He is restless. He does not know why, and that in itself is irritating. His long strides turn into stomps, squishing the newly-fallen snow into puddles of icy water, splashing his pristine white slacks until his socks are wet.

Wonderful. Now he is too cold. Inasmuch as numbing cold is his preference, frostbite and pneumonia are not. Glancing around, he spots the café that Mr. Aizen pointed out earlier. It would be worth a trip there right now, just so he can tell his boss if the coffee is decent or not.

Approaching the coffeeshop, he can see a bright orange blob through the fogged-up windows. It seems to be the hair of one of the employees, judging by the apron the person is wearing. How unfortunate for them, he thinks, to have hair of that colour.

Curiosity has him observing that person through the window for a few minutes. It is disorienting, seeing that vivid shade of orange after all the grey and whites. A woman, although barely one, more girl than adult, except the size of her bust would place her at a more mature age. Dancing around the tables, talking to the customers, this girl cannot seem to sit still.

He cannot say why he stands there, surrounded by the passing pedestrians, staring through the window at some unknown coffee girl. It is as if her fiery hair is the first colour Ulquiorra has seen in years, though this cannot be true. Her features are distorted through the window, but even from this distance, he can feel the warmth radiating from her. She turns her head in his direction, to talk to an older man in a hat, and suddenly her whole face erupts into a smile, knocking the breath from Ulquiorra's lungs.

Why is he waxing poetic about some girl he can barely see, he asks himself. Perhaps the cold is getting to his brain. The wetness of his socks reminds him that he needs to get someplace warm, or risk losing appendages, so Ulquiorra heads to the door of the shop, pushing it open.

The door has bells on it, and they announce his entrance. It is a quaint little place, cozy and smelling of butter and vanilla. Another girl mans the counter, her pink hair bobbing behind the pastry case. Is bright hair a requirement to work here, Ulquiorra wonders, carefully wiping his shoes on the mat.

"Welcome, Sir!" the auburn-haired girl sings out over her shoulder. How can someone be that happy? Instinctively, his hands clench into fists, to defend himself against this... happy person. He slips them into his pockets.

Ulquiorra is not sure how to deal with her, since most people usually cower or scream at the sight of him. He has had enthusiastic waitstaff before, but she seems... sincere. He does not know what to do with sincerity.

"Would you like a table?" The girl fishes out a menu from somewhere, and heads over to him. "Normally, we need you to order from the counter but it's so quiet, so we can do table service."

But if he had a table, she might try to talk to him. There are stools facing the window. Wordlessly, he makes his way there to the furthest stool, against the wall. There are heaters by the window, so he can dry his socks. Perfect.

The girl smiles. "Too cold, huh? The heaters are the best spot." Does she think they are having a conversation? He settles on the stool, grabbing the menu from her fingers.

She cocks her head to the side, like a puppy. "I recommend the hot drinks, obviously, because it is really cold."

"A double espresso," Ulquiorra mutters, propping his feet up on the lower rung of his stool. The girl nods, searching his face. Good lord, is she trying to make eye contact? He stares out the window, ignoring her efforts. He is certain that if she succeeds, something terrible will happen. Even now he can feel his pulse pounding at her proximity. That has never happened before.

"Um, would you like cream or sugar? Or would you like it Con Panna?" The questions do not mean anything to him. He does not respond. She waits a moment, then scurries back to the counter area.

As soon as she leaves, Ulquiorra sucks in a calming breath. She is annoying, yes, but not in the same way Grimmjow is annoying. He is reluctant to hurt her feelings, which is odd, because he normally does not care. Well, he shall drink his coffee and be gone, hopefully to never see her again.

She serves his coffee in a demitasse cup, sliding the snowy porcelain onto the dark wooden counter with a quiet clink. She has to reach across him to do this, so Ulquiorra pulls back, stiffly, trying to keep his balance while maintaining as much distance between them as possible.

Noticing his reticence, she backs away almost immediately. "Tell me if you need anything else, okay?" she chirps, breaking into a smile.

Up close, the full wattage of her smile is disconcerting. He turns his back to her, glaring out the window at nothing in particular. Taking the hint, she leaves. Ulquiorra can now understand why the moon is so radiant, reflecting the sun's light. He wonders if he is glowing as well, just because of his proximity to the woman.

A curious thing happens; he can see her in the reflection of the window, as she skips back to the counter. Perhaps, working here, she has unlimited access to sugar and caffeine. That would make sense. This seat he is in has an excellent view of the goings-on behind the bar, and in spite of himself, he watches the red-haired girl sneaking glances at him.

The pink-haired girl shoves her; he almost rises to his feet in her defense before he realizes it is playful. Women are a mystery to him, he thinks. But then, other people are a mystery to him. Trash, he adds automatically, draining the rest of his excellent espresso.

The other girl is at the counter as he approaches to settle his bill, but she promptly grabs the auburn-haired girl, dragging her to the cash register. This, he is used to, being avoided by people.

"How much?" he inquires tonelessly.

She gives him a lopsided grin. "It's on the house today."

Are they so afraid of him that they will not let him pay? Ah, they must have recognized him as an Espada. This happens all the time with Mr. Aizen so he does not think much of it.

Still, the coffee shop is empty. It is not customary in Japan to leave a tip, but he should give her something for her efforts, at least. Fishing in his pocket, he pulls out a bill, neatly folding it into the tip slot.

Her eyes widen. "Sir, you just tipped me ten times the cost of the coffee," she gasps, her cheeks bursting into colour. She digs into the tip jar, handing the bill back to him. "There must be some mistake. Please, take it back."

"I do not make mistakes," Ulquiorra replies tonelessly, walking away. He must get out of the woman's presence. She is... suffocating is not the correct term, although it is close.

She sprints around the counter, skidding to a halt in front of him. "Wait, sir! Please, at least take this umbrella to cover your head. It's snowing pretty heavily out there and you don't have a hat or a hood." Animated. That is the word he would use to describe her. Animated and alive, the complete opposite of what he is. She is all warmth and curves and sunshine and laughter, and her very existence might just cancel his out.

He flicks a gaze over the proffered green and white umbrella she holds out to him, obviously a personal possession of hers. He imagines her, playing in the snow, green umbrella and orange hair and rosy cheeks.

What the hell is going on in his head? He is not prone to fanciful thinking. There must be something in the coffee they serve here. "And what will you use?" he mutters instead.

She bites her lip and looks sheepish. "It's okay. I've got my winter coat, it's nice and hooded and waterproof. You can bring it back next time you come."

Carefully sidestepping her, Ulquiorra heads out the door, and into the cold arms of winter. He does not turn to look back at the woman, unwilling to acknowledge that the strange restlessness is now gone.

 

* * *

 

One week later, he finds himself in ankle-deep snow, standing in front of the coffee shop again. He is here for the espresso, he tells himself. It does not matter if the woman is here. Good coffee is hard to find.

Pushing the door open, he does not react to the jangling bells. Today, there is a tall man behind the counter, with mixed-race features. The coffee shop is full today, and it is probably going to be difficult to find seating. No sign of the auburn-haired girl. He is both disappointed and relieved, which makes no sense. He does not usually care about such things. He does not admit that he has been looking forward to this, either.

Making his way to the counter, he orders his coffee, and pays. The tall man tells him to grab a seat, and he will bring it over. Ulquiorra prefers this impersonal interaction. He searches the room for an available seat, and spots the chair in the corner at the same time as another customer. He will not do anything as undignified as run for a chair, even if it is the only open seat left.

Instead, he gives the other man a flat stare, and starts counting in his head.

One.

Two.

By the count of three, the other customer is bowing and backing away deferentially. He sits in the stool again, sinking onto the hard wood. The couple sitting beside him move away, clearing some room for him. He surveys the view out the window again, but it is dark, and all he can see are reflections of the scene behind him.

He spots her big gray eyes peeking out at him in the reflection, from the espresso machine. She must have risen on her tiptoes. One would think the fluorescent shade of her hair would grab his attention first, but no, it is her eyes. She looks like a puppy, he thinks, the corner of his lips kicking up in an unconscious smirk as he drums his fingers on the surface of the table.

The girl comes, bearing his coffee almost shyly. He does not look at her when she eases the porcelain onto the polished wood table, but he can smell the vanilla on her skin. "You came back," she greets, smiling at him.

He does not respond, sipping his coffee quietly. She waits for a moment, her smile fading as she studies him. Her coworker calls her, so she leaves him. Her words echo in his head. You came back. As if she was happy to see him again.

In his entire life, this is the first time he has ever heard this, said in such a lighthearted tone. The restlessness comes back, full-force. Ulquiorra's brow furrows as he digs in his pocket for a bill. He tucks it under the porcelain. It must be because of the money, of course. She is nice, as wait staff are, because he tips well. The thought quells the unsettling in him.

It is the money. Not him. Except that she tried to give him back his tip last week. No. His inner conflict makes him pound the table with a fist. Why is that woman affecting him this way?

"Is everything alright with your coffee, sir?" The co-worker inquires, drawn by the noise.

"Yes," he mutters, rising to his feet. "Thank you."

She is changing out the garbage can by the door. Now he has no choice but to walk past her, since he cannot sit back down. An unfamiliar heat rushes into his face, so he keeps his eyes down, hoping to get outside unnoticed.

"Have a great week, sir. See you again." she chirps, as he pulls the door open. He exits, glad for the cold winds to calm down his raging blood pressure.

His reactions to her are frustrating. Maybe he has been too long without a woman, he thinks. It is probably that. Purely a physiological reaction to a person of the opposite gender. Or maybe it is temporary madness. There must be some sort of winter illness that causes one to latch on to the first person they see.

A ringing phone interrupts his musings. He answers the call from Grimmjow, picking up his pace.

 

* * *

 

Another week passes and Ulquiorra is wondering what he is doing in the coffee shop, yet again. Excellent espresso, of course. Probably the best in the area, and there is no way he will be going back to convenience store coffee, unless he absolutely has to.

The girl has nothing to do with it at all. Except that he can see her bouncing around in the counter area, with the little pink-haired girl, dancing to some western music. She is pretending to sing into a broom handle, accidentally knocking over a stack of tea boxes when she swings her arm.

The dark, rich flavor of espresso swirls into his senses as he takes a sip, fascinated by the tableau in the reflection. As the girl bends to pick up the tea, the broom handle flies into the face of the pink-haired girl, who promptly grabs the steam handle of the espresso machine, fogging up the windows of the shop.

He muses that he has not met anyone so uncoordinated, but his thoughts are stopped cold when she breaks into a sunny smile, laughing. Even if it is a reflection, Ulquiorra feels the long-dead parts of him warm up in her radiance. He rises abruptly, tossing a bill on the table. He makes it out the door before she can say a word to him, counting it as a small victory. That does not stop his useless brain from dreaming about fluffy, coffee-coloured rabbits for the next six days.

 

* * *

 

He stares out the window, again, one week later. Caffeine. Caffeine is addictive, he tells himself. It is the coffee that keeps him coming back.

"Here you go!" Her voice warms him, again. This warmth is not right for him, but after living his entire life out in the cold, surely he is allowed this. The cup before him is steaming, but his eyes are on the vibrant hues of the girl's hair in the reflection as she retreats.

Just a little more warmth, he thinks. Just enough to make the rest of his existence bearable, for the next week, at least. He knows he will be back, but prefers not to dwell on it.

...

* * *

**END**


End file.
